A Twist of Fate
by mugglebornarcher
Summary: What if Gyda would've lived? Would she become a shield-maiden like her mother? Could she ever forgive Ragnar? Would she fall in love? Years have passed since Gyda and Bjorn have seen Ragnar. Although they'd never regret their decision of choosing to go with their mother, they can't help but think of Kattegat. What will happen in a twist of fate when their old life meets the new?
1. Chapter 1: With a Final Breath

Lagertha was a strong woman. She could take any man in a fight, she could look her own death in the eye without fear, and she could face most any suffering; she could endure most anything, but this...this truly tested her.

Gyda was her only daughter, the second of the children she had had with the great Ragnar Lothbrok; her only daughter, and there she lay, dying and Lagertha had no power to save her. She had already tried every remedy she could think of and prayed to the gods to spare her every second of everyday, but Gyda only seemed to get worse.

Just days ago, she had watched Siggy burn her own daughter's body; Lagertha had helped her stack Thyri's funeral pyre herself and comforted Siggy in her grief. She pitied her friend. Though Lagertha had had her own share of pain, Siggy's far exceeded hers; losing Thyri was just another excruciating stab in her heart. Sometimes she feared Siggy might never be the same. Thyri's death had taken a massive toll on her, slowly destroying from the inside out, an already fragile creature, as she had already lost her sons and husband before her. Lagertha couldn't bear to face the same fate. It had not been long since she had miscarried her unborn son...she could not...no, she would not lose another child. By the gods who feasted in Valhalla, she would _not _let Gyda die.

Lagertha sighed as she swept a stray strand of Gyda's long blonde locks off of her sweat stained forehead. Gyda flinched slightly in response to her touch, her pale lips opening ever so slightly, but no matter, she did not wake from her feverish sleep. The girl looked so small and helpless, reminding Lagertha of when she was just a babe. She wanted nothing more but to take her into her arms and will all of her pain away; to hold her and singing to her until all her troubles melted away, as she used to when Gyda was just a child, but it wasn't that simple. A barrier stood between them that Lagertha had found near impossible to breech.

"Is she doing any better?"

Lagertha peered over her shoulder. Athelstan, the priest that her husband had brought back with him from England nearly a year ago on his first raid, stood in the doorway. His skin was still pale from his recent experience with the epidemic, but color was slowly beginning to return to his face.

Since he had become well enough, he had been assisting her in caring for the others that still lay sick and dying, offering different remedies from his homeland to try to revive them. He looked between the mother and the daughter, his eyes resting on the latter of the two, filling with concern.

"She is alive." Lagertha replied with a mournful sigh, "And she is asleep at the moment." she added, coming to her feet and shepherding Athelstan out of the room. "We shouldn't wake her," she explained after they were out of the Hall. "She needs to build up her strength if she's to survive."

Athelstan nodded in agreement.

When the priest didn't speak, Lagertha took her turn. "Why have you come?" she inquired.

"This," he replied, bringing a strange liquid concoction to Lagertha's attention. It was contained in a small vial, resembling some type of potion. "This," he repeated, "Is a tonic which Father Cuthbert taught me back in England." he explained. "He used it once, that I can remember, to heal one of the other brothers of a fever, much like the one that has plagued Kattegat...if I've remembered and prepared it correctly, it may the answer we've been searching for...this might be able to save her."

"This can save my daughter?" she questioned, eyeing the vial hopefully. "Is this the remedy that you've been trying to remember? The one that you think might serve as a cure?"

Athelstan bit his lip. "Possibly. I've tried it on one other person yesterday, when I was just about certain that I had finally gotten it right...it's too soon to tell if it has worked. The fever Father Cuthbert used the tonic to cure might be entirely different from this epidemic..."

"No matter, we have no other choice." she declared. She lead him back inside, glancing to the place where Gyda lay, amongst the others who had fallen ill for a moment before returning her gaze to Athelstan. "Save my daughter, Priest. This tonic...brew more of it. If it is successful, then it shall be the answer to our prayers, and if it isn't..." she trailed off, deciding against voicing the former. She shook her head. "It matters not. This may be our only chance."

Without any farther instruction, Athelstan made his way over to Gyda. The girl was fully awake by then, her eyes wandering about the room wearily until they rested on him. "Athelstan?"

He smiled at her, trying his best to offer her as much encouragement as he could muster. "Yes, it's me." he said, kneeling beside her. "Are you feeling any better?"

She hesitated before nodding. "Yes."

He could sense the lie as it slipped past her lips. For a girl of twelve, he could easily see that she was very brave, but what else would you expect from the product of Ragnar and Lagertha?

"I asked Móðir to pray for you," she continued, strategically changing the subject from her own health. "I'm glad to know that the gods have spared you."

Again, he smiled. He couldn't help it. Ever since he had been taken to this strange land, it had always been Gyda that had made life tolerable for him. She was the only one who truly accepted him, with the exception of her father. In truth, it had even taken Lagertha quite awhile before she grew fond of him. Gyda, however, had always been there.

"I've brought something that might make you well again." he said, withdrawing the tonic vial from his pocket. "It's a tonic that I have made that might be able to serve as a cure...you trust me, don't you?"

Gyda nodded. "Of course I trust you, Athelstan."

As if by second nature, his lips curved into a smile upon hearing those words. "Good." he said, "Now, you'll just need to sit up a little bit...here, let me help you."

Wrapping his arm around her, he was able to help her sit up just enough so she could drink the tonic without choking on it. She cringed slightly, as the liquid traveled down her throat, earning a cough when it had finally been completely swallowed.

He laughed softly. "That bad, is it?"

Gyda shook her head. "No, it just burns a little."

"Well, the burning should go away soon." he provided. "You should be feeling better by tomorrow, if the tonic works as it should. In a short time, you should be back to normal again."

Silence passed between them, not an uncomfortable one, but nonetheless, silence. Athelstan sat with Gyda a moment longer. Maybe to make sure she was okay, maybe just to keep her company while her mother was away. Whatever it was, it just felt necessary.

"Well," he said suddenly, when he felt that his welcome was running thin, "I shall check on you tomorrow then."

Athelstan made to stand and leave and would've if it weren't for a small hand grasping his sleeve. "Please, stay." Her blue eyes pleaded with him longingly in a way that he couldn't bear to refuse. Gyda needn't say anything more. Athelstan promptly returned to his seat, beside her make-shift bed.

Gyda was such a small, innocent thing, in his eyes. She was still very young and not quite as outspoken as her brother, Bjorn. Instead, the girl had taken up more of a reserved role, not to say that she couldn't be outright when the occasion called for it, but out of all of her family, it was she who was most likely to keep her head when put to the test. This said, he was taken aback by what she said next.

"Athelstan, if I die, will you say good-bye to Bjorn and Faðir? Will you promise me that?"

He paused, taking in her words. At first, he thought maybe she was joking, but her eyes told him that she was perfectly serious.

"I don't fear death." she assured him, just as any true Viking would say. "I just want to make sure that it would be done in case I do die."

"Gyda..." Athelstan managed, "You are not going to die."

"How can you be so sure?" she questioned. "The days I've been sick out number yours and you are already well again." she shook her head. "I don't understand. If the gods wanted me to die, then shouldn't I already be dead? If they wanted me to live, then wouldn't I be better already?"

Athelstan shrugged. "I cannot answer that for you." he said truthfully. "But I can tell you that one thing our gods have in common is this: everything they do has a purpose. So, in saying this, I can assure you that you would not be alive right now if you weren't meant to be. I believe that you can, and will get better again, but only if you believe so too." he smiled at her encouragingly. "Stay strong, Gyda. I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

She smiled a nodded. "I'll look forward to it."

* * *

Every day that week Athelstan paid Gyda a visit. He'd, first, give her her daily dosage of the tonic, which seemed to have a very positive effect on her and everyone else whom he had tried it on, then he'd sit and talk with her for awhile. As she had told him once before, she craved company more than anything. With Ragnar and Bjorn gone and her mother busy running Kattegat, she often spent the majority of her time lying alone with naught but her thoughts, thus Athelstan had concluded that in order to heal her, he needed to provide her with one simple thing...someone to talk to.

Of course, he'd originally begun this daily ritual based purely on duty, to Ragnar and to his conscience, but over time he'd begun to realize that he actually enjoyed his visits with Gyda and even looked forward to them. The girl, once so quiet and reserved in his eyes, was now an entirely different person to him. She was so lively, even in her sickly state, and intelligent. Given, he'd had a rather limited knowledge of women, but even so he could see that she was quite ahead of her time. She had ideas, visions, plans for herself that impressed him. Gyda, as he had learned, was a really great girl.

He was on her way to visit her one particularly frosty morning when he entered the great hall and wasn't immediately greeted by Gyda in the normal fashion of her waving at him from across the room. His first reaction was worry, but he quickly pushed that aside and thought logically. Maybe she hadn't noticed him walk in, or maybe she'd lost track of the time, or better yet, maybe she was sleeping. Yes, that had to be it.

Thinking nothing of it, he continued on into the room to where Gyda's usual place was only to find that it too was missing. Now, he had allowed the feeling of panic to sink in. In his frenzy, he caught the attention of a medicine woman and beckoned her over.

"Excuse me, but where is the girl who was here just yesterday?" he inquired.

She looked at him questioningly for a moment before she made a connection. "Oh, yes, the Earl's daughter, I remember. We had her bed moved out just this morning." she replied before casually returning to her work, as if she'd only been commenting on the weather.

Dread washed over him as his body stiffened. No, it couldn't be true. She was getting better...she can't be... He couldn't even bring himself to say it, let alone think it. It wasn't possible. In that moment, he cursed his own breath. Why should he be allowed to live and she die? He, that had next to nothing to live for, when she had so much yet before her? It didn't make sense. It just wasn't fair.

Dumbfounded, Athelstan left the hall, stumbling out into the street. Wondering aimlessly about, he soon found himself in the forest located in the northern outskirts of Kattegat where he sank to his knees and allowed himself to do the one thing that made sense to him in that moment. Pray.

"Dear Heavenly Father, I know what I've been taught, and I do trust in your judgement, but in being a human, I still cannot help but wonder why. Why couldn't it have been me instead? This..." he looked about him at the strange wilderness surrounding him through his glassy eyes. "This life...what is it if it has yet to be lived? God, hear me. Why couldn't it have been me in her place?" his lip quivered from all the emotions raging inside of him...anger, sadness, grieving, bewilderment, frustration, and above all, guilt. "I'd gladly take her place, if it means that she'd have a chance to live." he paused, shaking his head, "All I ask, Lord, is that you help me to understand. In Jesus' name, I pray. Amen."

Unclasping his hands, he sat there for a moment, letting all of his emotions subside. Soon, after the initial shock had abandoned him, he was left with one thought...Lagertha. She didn't know yet. God...she didn't know. As much as he dreaded braking the news to her, he knew it had to be done. With a heavy heart, he began on his way to the living quarters of the Hall.

The Hall was separated into three main parts. The first, was the Great Hall, a large room made to hold a large amount of people for anything from entertaining to village-wide court sessions. The second, was purposed as a private meeting room, used for business and other such affairs concerning the greater good of the land. Lastly, there was the living quarters, nestled in the very back of the hall. There, the earl and his family lived, along with important members of the household, which, at the moment consisted of just Siggy and himself, Siggy's daughter, Thyri, having recently been deceased.

He had walked the path to the living quarters many times, but somehow, this time was much longer. His feet weighed him down, refusing every step, his heart beat quickening the closer he came to his inevitable fate. How could he possibly tell her such a thing? It didn't matter. It had to be done. He had no choice.

Stopping outside of the doorway, Athelstan gathered his courage, taking a deep breath and regaining his composure. He had to tell her, there was no turning back. Looking to the sky, he grasped the crucifix in his pocket tightly. "Lord, give me strength."

"LAGERTHA!" Well, that came out a lot louder than he meant it to...

Looking about the room, his eye caught movement. "Athelstan, you frightened me." she removed her hand from her heart and abandoned her weaving, moving towards the priest in the doorway instead.

"I..." he began, but his words were lost. He had only the ability to look at her, look and gape. A moment of silence passed between them. Finally, Athelstan spoke, "Gyda." His legs found the ability to move once again, making their way ever so slowly towards her.

"Is everything alright?"

Athelstan took her hand. It was so cold. Her skin was sickly pale, her blue eyes searching his for some type of explanation, but how could he oblige when hardly believe it himself?

"I don't understand," he began again, "I...I thought...they said you were dead."

Gyda smiled and shook her head. "No, I'm not dead." His eyes stared unwavering into hers as she slipped her hand into his. "I have you to thank for that." she said, "You saved me."

"You're alive." he breathed, touching her small, pale cheek as if to make sure she was real and not just some haunting illusion. His fingers brushed over her soft skin gently, his hand shaking ever so slightly in the fear that she might disappear at any second.

"My fever broke last night," she continued, "They kept me until morning to make sure I wasn't dying in place of recovering. At first light Móðir came to check on me and they let me go." her lips curled into a smile. The life in her that he once knew returned to her eyes. "I'm going to live, Athelstan, I'm going to live."

A smile tugged at his lips. She was going to live.


	2. Chapter 2: Of Memories and Vengence

It had been four years since she'd left Kattegat, and she yet could still remember the day as if it was yesterday. She'd been helping her mother pack for the majority of the morning. There was no question if Gyda would leave with her, the real question was whether Bjorn would come as well.

On occasion, her mother would look over to her and offer her a small smile. Gyda knew better than to mistake the smile for joy; she knew all too well how much her mother was hurting inside. It was no secret that her mother loved her father, but, as she had explained to her before, she would not stand such humiliation, even from Ragnar.

Gyda didn't know how to feel about her father's lover. Whereas Bjorn was openly hostile towards Princess Aslaug, Gyda had found herself in uncomfortable silence every time she saw her; silence...and the overwhelming urge to spit at her feet. How dare she come here? How dare she speak to Bjorn and herself as if she were their friend? Gyda had already determined that she could never be that woman's friend. It was her fault. If it wasn't for her, none of this would've ever happened.

But then, was it really all her fault? After all, her father did have equal share. He knew what he was doing and he didn't care worth a damn that he had a wife and daughter waiting for him at home. No, he had slept with another woman whilst Lagertha cared for a dying village, nearly loosing her daughter in the process. So, should she really lay all of her hatred on the princess, or should the true recipient of her distaste be her father? Besides, if it wasn't Aslaug, it could have easily been any other woman.

Ever since Aslaug had made herself present in their lives, Gyda hadn't been able to look her father in the eyes knowing that he'd spawned a child with a woman other than her mother. She loved him, as she always would, but she couldn't help but feel deceived. If her father had loved her mother, Bjorn and herself as much as she had assumed, the thought would have never crossed his mind to be unfaithful. She had noticed her father had been a little strange since her mother had lost the baby, but until now Gyda had assumed it was just grief. Now she knew that it was more than that. She had always known that her father was an ambitious man, but she had never thought that he'd go to such ends for power; for the sons that the gods had promised him.

Most of all, she could never forget when her father had tried to stop them. Riding up in front of their wagon, he clambered of off his horse, regarding her mother with hurt in his eyes and in his voice. His vulnerability, in the moment, frightened her, as it was completely alien to her. In time, however, she'd come to realize that in his expression of vulnerability lay his true strength, fighting for what (or in this case "who") he loved. Not giving up on them. When he'd accepted that Lagertha's mind would not be swayed, he had looked at her, and for the first time that she could remember, she saw tears brimming his eyes. She could still feel the throbbing of her heart, as he engulfed her in a hug, his hand absentmindedly running through her long blonde hair as he had always done.

They had nearly began on their way again when Bjorn came running over the hill. He stopped to catch his breath, his eyes moving between his family. His mother, his father, his sister. "I've changed my mind." he had said, his gaze moved from Ragnar to the wagon seat where his mother and sister sat. "I'm coming with you."

Four words. Four words had lost her father his family. Four words had forever changed their fate.

* * *

"Defend yourself. Know your opponent, predict their every move."

Gyda sneered at her brother, using all of her strength to keep his blade from scathing her body. Their swords scraped each other's surface, each fighting to gain dominance. "What do you think I'm trying to do?" she said through gritted teeth. "Besides, maybe you should take some of your own advice."

Before Bjorn could react, Gyda retreated her force, making him stagger forward, thus catching him off guard and giving her the edge which she quickly took advantage of. In one swift movement, she was able to knock his sword from his grasp and pin him to the ground, her blade threatening to cut his throat. "Next time maybe you should learn to keep your wits about you." she offered, smiling smugly down at him.

Bjorn rolled his eyes, shoving her off of him and getting himself back on to his feet. As he brushed the dirt off of his tunic, he glanced down at her and reluctantly offered her his hand. Gyda gratefully accepted, straightening her dress and trying her best to get as much dirt off of it as possible. "Don't get too cocky. I let you win that one." he claimed crossing his arms over his chest, his jaw hardening in disdain, making him resemble a small child on the verge of a temper tantrum.

Now it was Gyda's turn to roll her eyes. "You're just mad that you lost." she declared, sheathing her sword. "You were so confident that you could beat me, like you always do...or should I say, used to."

"Am not!" Bjorn protested, jabbing his sword in his sheath so forcibly that the sound of the two metals colliding rang for a few minutes afterward.

"Oh, right," Gyda consented, rising her hands in the air in mock-surrender. She knew Bjorn's temper was rising, but she also knew her brother well enough to know when too much was too much. She hesitated for a moment, but putting aside her thoughts, she delivered her final blow. "You're not mad that you lost, you're mad that you lost to a girl." She couldn't help it. If Ragnar had given her anything, it would have been her inability to pass up opportunities when they are presented.

Bjorn pursed his lips. She knew he would never hurt her, but she could also see his irritation rising. So, in order to make amends, she tended to him like she would any man. Attend to his pride. To a man, his ego is everything, one thing she could thank her father for teaching her.

Smiling knowingly, Gyda nudged him playfully. "Don't be too angry with me, Bjorn, that just means that I have a good teacher."

A smile tugged on Bjorn's lips. "I am a good teacher, aren't I?" he nodded, in agreement with himself. As predicted, her complimentary strategy was doing the trick; Bjorn had near completely forgotten his anger. Nobody could ever argue that he wasn't Ragnar Lothbrok's son...that was for sure.

Smiling to herself, Gyda tossed him a water skin, taking a seat at the roots of one of the trees in the clearing. After taking a quick swig of water, Bjorn took a seat beside her. He eyed the water skin thoughtfully for a moment, allowing his mind to wonder elsewhere, which did not go past Gyda's notice.

"What are you thinking about?" she questioned.

Bjorn shrugged. "Do you ever think about Kattegat? Do you ever wonder what it might be like now? What Faðir is like now?" Maybe he already knew the answer, maybe he didn't. Gyda would never know due to the fact that he didn't wait for an answer. "I do." he continued before she was able to form a single syllable. "I don't regret coming with you and Móðir, but sometimes I wonder...how might life have been different...if...if none of that would have happened, if all three of us never had had to leave Kattegat."

"I do think of Faðir." Gyda admitted. "Sometimes I find myself missing him, the way he'd run his hands through my hair as he'd kiss us good night, no matter what hour he'd return home, the way he'd teach us about the world and recount his adventures to us...and other times I resent him, for what he did, to Móðir and to us. I love him, but I think a part of me will always be hesitant to forgive him." she paused, averting her gaze. "I've often thought of Kattegat...but not just of Faðir..."

"What, then?"

Gyda shrugged nonchalantly. "Everything. The sea where we used to play and fish and watch ships and people come and go, the great hall where we used to feast and entertain, the forest where we'd explore until we had no choice but to return home because it was getting too dark... everything and everyone, Floki and Helga, Siggy, Torstein, Uncle Rollo...Athelstan..." she hesitated before saying the last name. The one who truly occupied the majority of her thoughts.

Catching wind of this, Bjorn cast her a sideways glance, eyeing her curiously. It was true that the pair of them had both grown to love the priest whom their father had brought back with him from England, but he could hear the true emotion in her voice, there was something more going on in her mind than merely missing the priest. Nevertheless, Bjorn knew better than to push matters and resolved to keep his question vague. "The Priest? Why?"

Again, Gyda shrugged. She'd always been fond of Athelstan. He'd been sort of like another big brother to her since her father had brought him from England, but ever since she'd left, she found herself thinking of him more often than she cared to admit. "I don't know. I guess it is probably because I never got the chance to say goodbye to him."

It wasn't too far from the truth. Gyda never did have the chance to say goodbye to Athelstan, but she doubted that was the true reason why she couldn't stop thinking about him. One look at her brother and she could tell that he wasn't convinced either. However, he wasn't the type to press her about matters, especially when it involved her blooming interest in the opposite sex.

Sensing the awkwardness arising between them, Gyda quickly changed the subject. "So, what makes you mention Faðir and Kattegat? You haven't been the same since you returned from Ribe. Has something happened?"

Bjorn cleared his throat, hesitantly meeting her questioning gaze. "Yes, something has happened." he affirmed. "Faðir is away on another raid in the west, in England."

"Yes," Gyda urged, all of her attention focused on her brother. Her sea blue eyes staring at him expectantly. "And?" she pressed, "That can't be all. Faðir has gone on many raids before."

"Yes, but this time is different. While I was in Ribe, I overheard some merchants talking about Kattegat. I, naturally being interested, eavesdropped on their conversation. As it turns out, in our Faðir's absence, Jarl Borg of Götaland has invaded Kattegat, killing all who resisted. Rollo, Princess Aslaug, Siggy, Princess Aslaug's children...they've all fled."

"I don't believe it..." Gyda breathed, her eyes wondering about aimlessly, as if searching for an answer to aid her confusion. "But surely Faðir will return, to claim back his land and to get revenge." she said hopefully, "Won't he?"

"Yes, that's what I thought," Bjorn agreed, "But he's going to need help, our help. I've talked to Móðir about convincing Earl Sigvard to send Ragnar aid, but she was reluctant to listen. She says that Sigvard would never agree to aid him."

"She's right." Gyda said thoughtfully. "This isn't our stepfather's quarrel. He won't listen to reason as is, what makes you think he will willingly send aid to our Faðir? However, that doesn't necessarily mean that he has to." Her eyes met his, a dangerous proposition being silently discussed between them.

Bjorn understood immediately what his sister was suggesting. Smiling and shaking his head, he chuckled knowingly. "Gyda, whomever says you're nothing like our Móðir is a liar."

Gyda smiled. She sat up a little straighter in pride."So, I'm assuming there's a plan?"

"Need I tell you?" Bjorn teased. "Of course there's a plan."

"Alright," she urged. "Out with it."

"Well, as you know, Sigvard is a lazy drunk, he won't be up until well into the morning, which gives us the opportunity to leave without him stopping us. By the time he realizes that we're gone, well be a good half a day away from this place... too far for him to stop us."

Gyda nodded, considering this information. "Great, we just have a few problems...we don't know where the refugees are, nor can we fight Jarl Borg's forces with only three of us...it's just not realistic."

Bjorn shook his head, smiling knowingly. "Yes, you're right, but you forget that it was Móðir who came up with this plan, not I. She's got everything figured out, as always. As for the men, they're already detained, ready to leave at a moment's notice. You'd be surprised how many men there are here who aren't loyal to Sigvard."

Gyda snorted, "Would I?" she asked sarcastically. She stopped laughing abruptly when she caught her brother's gaze. He frowned at her, pursing his lips in an annoyed manner. Clearing her throat, she composed herself once more. "Sorry," she muttered, "Continue."

"As I was saying," he began, "We have roughly thirty to forty good warriors. Plus you, Móðir, myself and whatever is left from Ragnar's forces...that gives us chance, at the very least. As for the refugee's whereabouts, we have scouts who've reported activity at an abandoned farm house nearby Arhus. We have reason to believe it's the survivors from Kattegat. The plan is to travel there and hope is them, if not we'll seek out further information."

Gyda nodded, pleased with the answers he provided. "Right then. It seems everything's in order. That leaves just one more question left to answer...when do we leave?"

A smile tugged at her brother's lips and in his eyes resided a spark of excitement. "We leave tonight."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Ribe and Arhus are some cities that I looked up that are in between where Kattegat is said to be and Hedeby, Scadinavia (where Earl Sigvard's lands are in the TV series). It may not be entirely accurate to history, but I tried my best to have the cities that I'm using to fill in information that the TV show left out to be as historically accurate to the time period as possible, for instance Ribe was supposed to be a trading center, so I thought it was best fitting that Bjorn heard of Kattegat's fall there. However, for all I know, those cities might not have existed yet in the time that Vikings was set. All I can say is that I tried. The TV show wasn't exactly clear on how Bjorn and Lagertha came to receive all the information that they had, so I did my best to fill in the blanks. I hope I did this chapter just.**

**Lastly, thank you all for the reviews, favorites and my new followers. I always like to see that people enjoy my stories. You are much appreciated. :)**


	3. Chapter 3: Faces of the Past

Nearly four years had passed since Princess Aslaug had bore him the first of their sons, whom they named Ubbe. He had nearly been a year old when the princess was yet again with child and had, months later, given birth to the second of their sons, Hvitserk. Then, not long after Hvitserk had turned two, Aslaug was once again pregnant. Ragnar Lothbrok had always known he'd have many sons and each time another was born, he found himself falling in love over and over again, each time, the joy of being a new parent rekindling to build a brighter flame. There was no doubt that Ragnar loved his children. Every one of them.

He had often times found himself thinking of his son and daughter whom he had lost many years ago. Four years, and he could still remember the day that they left like it was only yesterday. He could remember every detail and still feel the knife that had punctured his heart. On occasion, he'd find himself wondering how they'd changed, after all, they weren't children anymore. Bjorn was near a man, seventeen years old and Gyda...she was practically a woman. How time flew.

He found these thoughts occupying his mind as he sharpened his ax with his whetstone, tracing the dark rock evenly over the blade. Questions bustled about in his mind: What did they look like? What were they like? Where had they gone? And, above all, were they even alive? Questions that were ever present, and forever left unanswered.

However caught up in his thoughts he was, Ragnar didn't jump when Athelstan sat beside him, in fact, he had noted his presence before he was even in sight. He met his eyes for a moment before returning back to his battle ax. "Priest, what do you think has become of my family?" he asked simply.

Athelstan's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "They're still in Kattegat." he stated, somewhat uncertainly, "Are they not?"

Ragnar shook his head. Abandoning his work, his eyes ventured into the fiery depths of the crackling flames that provided the only light against the black Wessex night. His expression remained solemn, his thoughts wondering far away from Britannia to some place where he, himself was unaware of the whereabouts. "Not that family."

A silence grew between them as Athelstan pieced together Ragnar's words. "You mean Lagertha, Bjorn and Gyda." he didn't ask, because he knew he'd guessed correctly.

Ragnar nodded, not meeting the priest's eye. "What father would not wonder about his children?" he sighed, placing his ax on the ground and pocketing his whetstone. "My son is a man and my daughter, a woman and I've missed it. I've missed seeing them grow, I've missed seeing the people they've become. They are strangers to me now. If they stood before me, in this moment, I doubt I'd recognize them."

Athelstan bit his lip. Although he wished he could disprove Ragnar's claims, he knew he couldn't. Everything he'd said was true. He bit his lip in his frustration, his eyes moving between Ragnar and the flames to which his eyes were glued. "They're your children." he said eventually. "Even if you did not recognize them physically, you would know it is them in your heart."

Ragnar met his gaze. His blue eyes, weary from battle and stress, studied him hopefully. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "Often, whenever I think of Bjorn, I think of a tall young man, taller than I." he closed his eyes, focusing intently on the vision of his son. "He's strong too. A great warrior." he opened his eyes again, his mouth now fully curved into a grin. "All of the women would adore him."

Athelstan chuckled. "I wouldn't doubt it."

"Yes," Ragnar agreed, "That would be Bjorn. Handsome, strong, and adamant. Sometimes a little too adamant, but still a great man, with a kind heart." he nodded thoughtfully. "And protective. Even as a boy, he'd never let any harm befall his Móðir or his sister." Again he paused, his expression softening as his thoughts shifted to his only daughter. "Gyda." he breathed, his eyes locking with the priest's.

In all the time Athelstan had known Ragnar, he had never seen him brighten as much when he spoke about someone than when he spoke about his daughter. Not even Aslaug or Lagertha could measure up to the amount of pure joy Gyda gave him. He could physically see the love in his eyes as he said her name, each time the intuitive smile that came to his face traveling up to his eyes to share in their pleasantries.

"They say a man must love his sons more, but a man can be jealous of his sons and his daughter can always be the light in his life." He said. "And that is Gyda. Beautiful, intelligent, humble Gyda. People often mistake her for being weak in comparison to her brother or myself, but in many ways she is stronger than both of us, much like her Móðir." he paused again, retreating back into his self pity. "She's probably a lot like Lagertha." he sighed, running his hand down the length of his beard. "I hope she is. That way I'd be comforted to know that she'd never let her husband treat her like I treated Lagertha."

Athelstan shifted uncomfortably. Although he'd never voiced his opinion aloud, he'd been troubled ever since he'd gained knowledge about Ragnar's activities with Princess Aslaug, which only farther vexed him when he witnessed how he had simply let his lust tear his family apart. Part of him wanted to berate his selfishness by reminding him that it was his fault that he lost his family, but then the other part pitied him. One thing that he learned from his years in the monastery was that people make mistakes. Even in the Lord's Prayer, "Forgive us our trespasses," and thus, the Christian Athelstan, which would forever be a part of him, was compelled to pardon him for his sin, and instead focus on doing what Ragnar needed him to...being his friend.

"Gyda is a strong girl-"

"Woman." Ragnar corrected him. "She would be sixteen by now."

"Right," Athelstan consented, "Woman." the word rolled awkwardly off of his tongue. Every time he thought of Gyda, he'd always pictured the same twelve year old girl that had left Kattegat four years ago, but, as her father had pointed out, she most definitely was not a little girl anymore. He found that hard to fathom. "As I was saying, you needn't worry about her well-being. She's strong minded and I'm confident that she's grown into a fine young woman."

Ragnar nodded again, shoving one of his hands into his pocket, fumbling around with something inside of it. His eyes followed his hand as he retrieved a gold band, the mark of freedom in Viking culture. Turning it thrice in hand, Ragnar eyed it thoughtfully. "This was for you." he said, his gaze returning to Athelstan.

"Y-you where going to make me a free man?" he stuttered. "Why?"

Again, that signature smirk tugged at Ragnar's lips. "I don't trust easily, Priest, especially not with the things I hold most dear, but for some reason, I trust you." he paused, his smirk disappearing, being replaced by a more serious tone. "When she was old enough, I was going to give you my daughter, my Gyda."

It took a moment for Ragnar's confession to sink in. Him, marry Gyda? Surely that's not what he meant. After all, she was only sixteen, he was nearing twenty five, nearly nine years were in between them! Of course, it wasn't uncommon that young women were often married to men many years their senior, but still, Athelstan still couldn't come to odds with the prospect of taking Gyda, the girl he'd for a long time viewed as a little sister, as his wife. Just the prospect of taking a wife in general made him uneasy. He'd sworn a vow that he'd never marry, yet here he was, talking about just that.

"I...I'm not sure I understand you correctly." he mustered once his shock had begun to subside. "Why me?"

"Why not you?" Ragnar challenged, a smile forming upon his face. "My daughter's happiness is not a business deal. I want her to be happy with whomever I allow her to marry and I want that man to be somebody who I can trust her to be safe with." he shrugged, "I already know that I will never be completely convinced that any man is suitable enough for her, but I am quite certain that I will like you more than any other man who might come along." His smile broadened mischievously, "Besides," he added, "You're less liable to bed her; any father would appreciate that." he paused a moment, hesitating before handing the gold band to Athelstan. "I may not still have my daughter to offer you, but I can still offer you this."

Athelstan felt his cheeks warm, no doubt turning a bright red at the thought of bedding Gyda. In many ways, he was still very naive, having never been with a woman. He looked at him uncertainly before accepting the band and placing it on his arm, identical to where Ragnar wore his.

The Norseman smiled. "Lagertha and I had that made long ago, having talked over this issue." he explained. "After all, an Earl's daughter couldn't rightly marry a slave." he teased, nudging his shoulder a moment before his plague of solemnness came over him again. "How different things would have been." he wondered out loud. "For all I know, my daughter is already married to some other man, but rest assured, Priest, I'd much rather have you as a son in law."

Athelstan nodded quickly, reminding himself that Ragnar wasn't actually proposing that he marry Gyda, but confessing to him that it had once been a thought; a thing of the past. Deciding it best not to linger on the topic, for his own sake, he quickly changed the subject. "If you miss them so much, then why haven't you sought them out? It's no secret that you yearn for them...all of them."

Ragnar's eyes darted to him upon catching the last of his words. Athelstan knew as well as anyone that Ragnar had never quite stopped loving his first wife. He'd kiss Princess Aslaug and provide for her like any doting husband, but it wasn't hard to tell that there was hardly any emotion behind the gestures. The love he had for Aslaug steamed from the sons she had bore him, not from the same vine in which his love for Lagertha had blossomed. Somewhere, deep inside him, a bit of him had grown ill since Lagertha left, a part that had to be revived.

Ragnar sighed, coming to his feet and gathering up his things. "I shouldn't have mentioned this." he declared apologetically. "Forget I said anything." he said. Offering him a small smile, he beckoned towards the tents, "I've much to discuss with King Horik tomorrow. I am going to get some sleep, and I suggest you do the same."

Not waiting for his response, Ragnar turned his back on the priest and disappeared into the night.

* * *

Athelstan recalled that conversation vividly, night after night after Ragnar had left to avenge his family back in Scandinavia. Maybe he regretted staying, maybe he didn't, but one thing was for sure, without Ragnar, Athelstan had never felt so alone, nor so conflicted.

He was surrounded by sin. Everywhere around him, the sound of screams filled the air. The other night, King Horik and his men had raided a nearby village, taking with them a handful of women along with their treasure to amuse them. The sound sickened him. How could this be just? He found himself questioning the life he had chosen, wondering if the Athelstan that once was was still there or whether he had died long ago.

Trying his best to distance himself from the horrid sound, he retreated into his tent. Running his fingers through his hair, he sighed. No matter how hard he'd tried to reject the world he'd been thrown into, he couldn't help but be emerged. Likewise, no matter how hard he'd tried to amerce himself into the world of the Northmen, he could never achieve his goal. Every time he'd come close to renouncing his former life, something always drew him back. A whisper, that beckoned him, pleading with him to return.

Sitting among the animal skin blankets, he had nearly laid down to sleep when a familiar shape caught his eye. Rummaging amongst the skins, he discovered a book, but not just any book, but the Bible...the thing that had once beheld his entire being. Handling the pages tenderly, he examined page after page, familiarizing himself again with his native language. He explored, until he'd come to an image of Christ, nailed to the cross, identical to the engravings in his crucifix which he'd kept hidden beneath his sleeve.

As he examined the image, his vision blurred, seeing naught but the crucifixion, the outside world becoming very distant, the blood becoming real in his eyes, seeping on to the parchment, staining the paper and his hands. The screams of the innocent rang in his ears, only growing louder as the blood thickened. In his fright, he dropped the book, furiously wiping at his hands in attempt to cleanse himself, but there was no blood. It had all been in his head. The screams, however, were very real.

Just outside his tent, he heard the muffled sounds of a girl struggling, followed by the heavy breathing of a man. Unable to stifle his fury a moment longer, Athelstan marched outside. Coming up from behind the attacker, he snatched him off of the poor girl by the scruff of his neck and pulled him to his feet, pausing just long enough to prepare his fist to connect with the man's jaw. Drunken and confused, the man cradled his bleeding face and hurried away from him, deciding against picking a fight with him.

The girl, still lay frozen in her shock, her hands clinging desperately to her tattered clothing, trying her best to hide herself behind them. She eyed him wildly, unsure if he was truly trying to rescue her out of the goodness of his heart or if he merely wanted her body for himself. She flinched as he touched her hand, cowering away from him for the fear of what he might do.

"You needn't fear me." he assured her, speaking in his native tongue so she could understand him. "I will not harm you."

Upon recognizing his words, she relaxed a bit. "Y-you speak our language?" she stuttered. "I don't understand."

For a moment, Athelstan considered confiding in the girl, but, thinking better of it, he merely shook his head. "Don't ask questions." he ordered. "I'll help you get out of here, but please, ask nothing more of me than that."

The girl nodded quickly, accepting his hand and following him to a part of the encampment that had been left virtually unguarded. "I'll make sure nobody watches you, all you have to do is keep running until you are far from this place." he told her. "Keep running, and don't look back."

The girl nodded, thanking him quickly before crawling underneath the wooden barricade and sprinting near soundlessly into the forest.

As he watched the small figure of the girl disappear into the woods beyond, Athelstan wracked his brains as to why he would do such a thing for her, a complete stranger, knowing that if she was caught, he'd be the one to suffer the consequences. Maybe it was his unwavering morality. Maybe, as hard as he'd worked against it, his will was weak. Or maybe...

His heart lurched at the realization. The undeniable fact arose to his attention. Every time he looked at that girl, he saw another's face. Another whom, for years, had only existed in his memory.


	4. Chapter 4: Blood and Water

Floki ran as fast as his legs could carry him. Between gasps, he bellowed as loudly as his labored lungs would allow. "Ragnar, they're here!" He panted when he finally reached the entrance to the barn, where he was met by a startled looking Helga and Ragnar. Scrambling about to collect his dagger, he looked between the pair of them urgently. "Ragnar, they're coming!"

"Who's coming?" Helga inquired, eyeing him incrediously as he scrambled about like a madman.

"Who do you think? Jarl Borg and his men." Floki said. His grip tightened on his ax, his eyes filled with the thirst for revenge as he led the pair to the hill side, pointing at the small regiment that he had spotted a few minutes before. "They've come to finish us off!"

It had been weeks since Kattegat had fallen and mere days since Ragnar and his men had returned from Wessex, word was bound to have reached Jarl Borg by now.

Certain of his assumptions, Floki suggested they gather up what warriors they had to give what fight they could, but Ragnar shook his head. He knew in his heart it wasn't Jarl Borg. From the moment he saw her, riding down the steep mountain path, he had recognized her. Suppressing a smirk, he made his way to the dirt path that ran before the barn to meet her.

She looked just as beautiful as he had remembered. Her blonde hair was decorated with dozens of braids, the remaining bits left to flow freely down her back in delicate ribbons of gold. She was clad in chain mail, a sword held at her hip. It seemed as if time had no effect on her. She was just as, if not more, beautiful as the day he last laid eyes on her. As much as the feeling of longing overwhelmed him at the sight of her, he was also reminded of the pain she caused him the day she left.

"It has been a long time." he said, trying his best to suppress his emotions, not being able to help the bitterness that seeped into his casual tone.

She smiled at him faintly as she slid off of her horse. "Hello, Ragnar." she had disregarded the tension between them as best as she could, approaching her ex husband confidently. "I heard of your troubles," she explained, her voice unwavering, "I've brought these warriors to help you."

From behind her, two other figures joined them, one male, one female, both appearing to be very young, barely touching on adulthood. The man was tall, even more so than Ragnar. He was well built and handsome, his jaw well chiseled and his shoulders broad, the beginnings of a beard littered his chin. The woman, though quite short, also was well developed. Her thick, wavy blonde hair hung over her shoulders in two loose braids that fell past her breasts, nearly to the small of her waist, held at the ends with thick leather cords. Her eyes were are blue as the Baltic sea and her features were soft and delicate yet fierce in the way she held them.

Ragnar's heart lurched, an immense notion materializing in his mind of the identity of these two strangers. Despite his certainty, he inquired to who they were, not allowing his emotions to overtake him until his beliefs were confirmed.

"We are your children." the man said. He did not so much as voice the second syllable before Ragnar engulfed him in a hug. "I always knew in my heart that I would see you again, but I never guessed it would be in such circumstances."

Upon releasing them, he stood apart from them, taking them in. By the gods! How much they had grown!

"Who can guess the plans and ways of the gods?" Bjorn replied, offering his father a small smile. "But now they have contrived to bring us back together and I, for one, am glad for it."

Grinning, Ragnar nodded in approval. Clasping his arm, he set about inspecting his son, smiling in approval and pride at his well developed physique. "I do not need to ask if you have been fed well." said he. "You have grown so tall." Turning to his daughter, he caressed her cheek, kissing her gently on the head. "You have the look of your móðir." he observed, trying his best to subdue this emotions. "No doubt in disposition as well."

"I've come to fight along with my móðir and bróðir." she replied. "Though time parted us, fate has brought us together once more. I had never doubted that one day, this moment would come."

Ragnar nodded, taking one of her small hands in his, looking between his two children proudly. "When this is over, we shall have many stories to tell."

"We are bound both by ties of memory and blood." said Bjorn.

Grinning, Ragnar nodded in agreement. "It seems your móðir and I have produced children that are both strong and wise." he mused, grasping his son's shoulder.

"For a long time, Faðir, I feel like I have carried nothing but memories." he declared, setting his jaw determindly. "But now, here, in this place, with you, my móðir and my systir, I feel reborn, as if I have a life to lead."

Ragnar beamed, squeezing his shoulder before pulling Bjorn back into a manly embrace. "Far too long." Glancing briefly at Lagertha, he wrapped his arm around his son's shoulders. Taking his daughter by the hand, he led their company to his humble dwelling.

* * *

Gyda looked curiously about the room, staying closely beside her mother and her brother. In the small dwelling, a large amount of people sat cramped in the dull light, several familiar faces meeting her gaze as she entered. Among them, her uncle, Rollo, was the first to approach them, his eyes locking with her mother, taking her in as if he was unsure if he was dreaming.

"Lagertha," he breathed. "You're the last person I expected to see here. You and your warriors are as welcome to us as spring after the hardest and most bitter winter." he said, clasping her hands gratefully.

"Rollo, my children and I are only too glad to come to Ragnar's aid." she replied with a small smile.

Confused, his gaze shifted to Gyda, then to Bjorn, who'd only just stumbled through the door. Looking the pair of them up and down, he chuckled in disbelief. "Freya and all the gods, you pair have grown!" he exclaimed, astounded, but not surprised at how beautiful his niece had grown and how strong his nephew.

He clapped his hands upon Bjorn's cheeks. "You're a big bastard now!" he grinned, slapping him jokingly, "Still can't grow a beard, though."

He embraced the pair in turn as more people greeted the newcomers. Floki cackled in glee, his eyes glinting in wonder. "Yes. Yes!" flouncing about he clapped them on the shoulders. "All grown up!"

Coming to his side, Helga smiled, taking Gyda's hand she spoke kindly to them. "We are so grateful to see you."

Once she and her brother were relieved of their welcomers, they rejoined their mother, who stood before none other than Princess Aslaug. Gaping, their eyes fell upon the woman whom they had despised for four long years. Beside her stood two young boys, the oldest looking to be no older than four. Another child was craddled in her arms, no doubt the latest addition to her growing family.

"Princess." They acknowleged in unison, not knowing what else to make of the situation.

She nodded in gratitude. "May I present my sons, Ubbe," she gestured to the taller of the two, "And Hvitserk." she gestured to the second of the boys.

Smiling, Lagertha kneeled, looking between the two boys happily. "I am pleased to see you." said she, offering them each a kind smile. "I always knew that someday I would meet some more of Ragnar's sons."

The boy called Hvitserk cocked his head curiously. "How did you know?" he asked.

Turning to him, she raised her eyebrows seriously. "The gods told me." she replied in a gentle, knowing voice. Patting them both on the head, she rose back to her feet, regarding the Princess once more. "And you have a baby?" she inquired. "May I?" she asked hopefully.

The princess nodded, placing the small child in Lagertha's arms. "His name is Sigurd Snak-in-the-Eye." she said, smiling down at her child adoringly.

"After your father?" Lagertha asked.

Smiling, Aslaug nodded. "And after his own father."

All eyes turned to the entrance of the barn as Ragnar entered. He looked uneasily between his two families, his eyes darting about guiltily. "Enough with the pleasantries." he declared, disregarding the uncomfortable situation completely. "Let's make a plan."

Carefully, Lagertha handed the child back to Princess Aslaug as she and her children joined the men at a long wooden table at the far end of the room. "Even with your additional forces, Lagertha, we cannot attack Kattegat and hope to succeed." said Torstein solmenly. "Jarl Borg is well dug in."

"What do you propose?" she asked, looking about them expectantly.

"We want to drive Jarl Borg out of Kattegat." said Rollo, simply. "He has no idea we have been reinforced."

"And what would make him leave Kattegat where he can winter in safety?" Torstein questioned further, bringing forth the reality of the matter.

"The one thing that will threaten his whole existance there." Rollo replied, coolly.

"And what would that be?" Floki questioned, eyeing him expectantly.

"Food." Rollo said. He crossed his arms over his chest confidently, gazing about the table. "A few of us will go into the town and destroy the winter grain stores."

A series of nods circulated the table, accepting Rollo's proposition. "I will do it." Floki offered enthusiastically. "I will go."

Ragnar shook his head. "No." he decided. He rested his chin upon his elbow, meeting Bjorn's eyes with a detemined gaze. "My son and I shall go. We'll only need a few men."

* * *

_Blood. Streaming from the nails in his hands and feet and from the collection of thorns which crowned his head, pressing into his skull mercilessly. His screams echoed through the land as he, along with the wooden boards he was attached to, was raised from the ground and propped up right. Once again, he yelped in his agony, his pain causing him to be unaware of the man with the spear, pointed at his heart, prepared to thrust it into his beaten flesh._

Gyda awoke with a start upon feeling a hand upon her shoulder. Once realizing where she was, her breathing returned to normal pace, as did her heartbeat. The familiar face of her father frowned down at her. His eyes, piercing blue, even in the darkness of the barn. Upon noticing her discomfort, he took a seat beside her and took her hand. "What is the matter, Dóttir?" he said kindly to her, pressing his rough, calloused hand to her small, soft cheek.

She shook her head, her mouth parted, but she neglected to speak due to lack of the sufficient words to describe what she wanted to say. Her eyes met her fathers, pleading with him to understand, for the fear of what would become of herself if she should relive her frightful nightmare. Weakness was not something Gyda would allow herself to convey, especially not to her father.

Her finger traced his beard, trailing over a patch of dried blood that had been left, unnoticed, from his mission. Ragnar had killed someone. "Blood." she whispered, her thoughts beginning to translate into words. "So much blood...where does it stop?"

Ragnar pursed his lips, averting his gaze from hers momentarily. Returning to a standing position, he motioned for her to follow him. "Come." he said. He offered her his hand, which she reluctantly accepted, wondering where he could possibly be taking her.

Outside of the barn, the night was still, foretelling the coming of winter with its unforgiving chill. Gyda pulled her shall tighter around her body to preserve the little warmth she had. Keeping a few paces behind Ragnar, she watched him curiously as he trudged purposefully through the strange land. They had not gone too far from the makeshift shelter when he stopped abruptly. He sat, his eyes connecting with the starry skies above him.

Gyda hesitated, awkwardly trying to make sense of what he wanted her to do. Should she join him, or would that be imposing? Deciding it best not to over-think things, she joined him, placing herself in the shelter of the tall meadow grass.

"You don't have to put out the fire when all is ash."* he said suddenly, although his eyes did not once abandon the sky. "The world burns." he continued. "It is a raging fire. Believe me, or do not, but I've come to find that sometimes the only answer to such ruin, is in blood." He looked at her, but she could not read his expression. He regarded her curiously; studying her as if she were a stranger...which, in truth, she wasn't far from.

"Answers made in blood does not heal the wound." she replied, trying her best to avoid displaying any sort of emotion.

She was surprised to find Ragnar chuckling in response to her. Not in spite, but laughing nonetheless. "It would seem your móðir and I have produced a daughter that is as wise as she is beautiful." he shook his head once again, his eyes reflecting his admiration for her. "You are so like your móðir. Intelligent, kind, beautiful and above all else, strong, in many ways." he stopped suddenly, letting his smile fade in silence. "I wonder...is there anything in you that is of me?"

For the first time, in years, Gyda felt pity for him. In hopes of offering him some sort of comfort, however small it was, she placed her hand on top of his. "Of course there is." she insisted, offering him a small smile. "I would not be your dóttir if I was nothing like you. If you don't believe me, then let me prove it to you."

Ragnar smirked. Evidence of his genuine amusement. "How?"

"On the battlefield." she stated simply. "Let me fight with you to restore your lands...take me to Wessex with you, let me raid." she squeezed his hand her her excitement, her eyes set aflame with passion, of the kind Ragnar had never seen in his her before. "Faðir, let me fight. I've trained with Bjorn, every day since I've turned thirteen. I am ready. I know I am."

"A Father spends all of his son's boyhood preparing him for the day that he reaches manhood and joins him in battle; it is expected of the son to follow in his father's footsteps. However, his daughter..." he sighed and shook his head. "A father can expect certain stages in her life...when she becomes a woman, when he must present her to another man whom will take her to be his wife...he can expect it, but, as I have found, he can never be prepared for it, such as I am now. However, I will not pretend that battle is not a dangerous thing, but I will neither keep you from engaging in it."

A smile spread on Gyda's face. "Thank you, Faðir."

Ragnar chuckled at his daughter's delight. "I assume your móðir has already consented this?"

She nodded confidently. "Yes. She's proud that I've decided to take after her."

"As she should be."

A comfortable silence passed between them in which both of them turned their attention to the sky. It did not go unnoticed by either of them how, in so short of time, the previous tension between them had near completely vanished. The wonderful realization arose between them that the loved one they had once lost had indeed been found again.

"There is one more thing I wanted to talk to you about." he said awhile later. "Something that has occupied my thoughts for some time now."

Gyda raised her eyebrows, questioningly. "And it is?"

Ragnar shifted slightly, his mouth curling into a small smile. "Something all fathers dread." he replied. "Have I any men trailing after you yet? I'd hate to think you're already promised to a man I have yet to meet."

Gyda blushed and shook her head. "No." Thinking twice about it, she eyed him quizzically. "Why? Is there a husband you have in mind for me?"

Ragnar shrugged nonchalantly. "Perhaps."

Curiosity getting the better of her, she sat erect, her full, pink lips curling into a mischievous smile. "Who? Do I know him?" Her face contorted into a look of disgust; her nose scrunched and lips pursed as her thoughts shifted to Thyri's husband. What if she met a similar fate? "He...He's not a foreigner...is he?"

Her father smiled at her knowingly. "And if he is?"

Gyda sighed, looking at the ground in disappointment. She knew it was too good to be true.

"You do know him." Ragnar provided. "And If I remember correctly, you were rather fond of him."

Her heart lifted as if it were a feather caught in a sudden gust of wind. Could he be talking about him? The very man that had haunted her thoughts mere minutes before?

He opened his mouth, about to reveal the man's identity, when he suddenly shook his head, deciding against it. "It matters not." he decided, smiling at her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders. "Let Bjorn, Rollo and I be the only men in your heart for now. I've only just gotten you back, I don't plan on losing you any time soon."

She could feel his beard tickling her skin as he kissed her forehead. Closing her eyes, she let her head rest on her father's chest. The rhythm of his heart beat met her ears. She listened to it intently. The sound shifted in her mind to the sound of a hammer against nails.

No matter how hard she fought it, fear lodged itself in her heart for a man across the sea.

* * *

Athelstan's hand moved steadily across the page, carefully forming delicate script. As if by second nature, he painted the parchment with paste. It had been years since he'd copied a book, yet the art was still so familiar to his hands. Ever since he'd been accepted into King Ecbert's court, he'd used his revived talent somewhat as a coping method. It comforted him that he found something familiar to him in this strange place.

He stopped his work as his hand began to ache. Tenderly, he touched his bandaged palms. Sometimes, he could still feel the nails pressing through them. Fortunately, his hands, along with his feet, had been healing quite well. The apothecary had even ventured to inform him that he'd be able to walk without his cane in time. There was no doubt; he was a lucky man, lucky, even to be alive. He thanked God every day for that...his life.

God.

What did he believe?

In his heart, there was still the devoted Christian, but over the years he lived in Scandinavia, he'd grown to love and honor their gods. Odin, Thor, Freya, Frigg. All massing about in his mind and in his heart, neither dominating nor receding to his god. In the gentle fall of rain from Heaven, he heard his god, but in the thunder, he still heard Thor.

Script had become a great distraction from his conflicting thoughts and he often found himself, as he did now, copying texts in the library, where he was seldom disturbed.

He sighed, picking up his brush once more and beginning his calligraphy again. He'd only gotten, perhaps, a paragraph in to his work when he was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of King Ecbert's voice.

"You have a great gift, Athelstan." he said, peering over his shoulder to get a better look at his handiwork. He edged closer to him, marveling at the carefully formed script which swirled over the parchment accompanied by vibrant images and patterns. "I believe it is a divine gift."

"Thank you, sire." he replied, reuniting his brush with the others. Moving from his desk, he placed his full attention on the king. His eyes moved between King Ecbert and the parchment, his heart filling with pride for such a compliment. "I thought I might have forgotten, but..." he trailed off, his hands gently touching the brush. "I love these materials." he said. "The brushes, the paste, the colors...I had not appreciated how much I missed my work."

He surprised himself at his admittance.

The king frowned, looking at him curiously. "The pagans have nothing like it?"

Athelstan shook his head. "No. They have no art. They can neither read nor write, except for their carved runes."

Nodding thoughtfully, King Ecbert paced about the room, his hand absentmindedly stroked his beard, a habit that Athelstan had noticed he preformed when in deep thought. "And their gods..." he continued, "Odin and Thor and Freya...how strange you must have found them."

There, Athelstan paused. No matter how much he tried to tear himself from it, it always seemed to present itself again. The ever present internal controversy. "Their gods are very old," he managed, after a short pause. "and sometimes I couldn't help but noticing some similarities with our own god and his son."

Again, he nodded thoughtfully. He pursed his lips. His eyes met Athelstan's with a decisive stare. "Right," he said suddenly. "Come with me, there is something I'd like to show you."

Athelstan marveled at the magnificent mural before him. Long years had drawn cracks and faded its color, but the beauty remained, timelessly preserved. Images of bloody battles and beautiful women decorated the walls. They were dressed in odd clothing and armor, accompanied by strange creatures, half bull, half man, half horse, half man, half goat, half man. Each figure was traced with gold, which reflected the gentle light of the candles which radiated the beauty of the mural even more.

"Tell me honestly," said the king, standing back as to not disturb Athelstan's careful examination of the piece, "What do you think of these works?"

"I..." he shook his head. He was at a loss for adequate words. They were capitulating. Settling on the most appropriate comment that came to his mind, he responded. "I find them indescribably beautiful."

"But they're clearly pagan."

Athelstan stiffened. What sort of trap had he run into? His son, Aethelwulf had probably warned him of Athelstan's seemingly infidel behavior and now he was going to suffer the consequences. He calculated the king carefully, warily trying to anticipate his next move.

Surprisingly, Athelstan received a smile. "You are only a monk, Athelstan, and yet I begin to trust you." he paused, seeming to appraise him. "You are earning my trust...much as you earned Earl Ragnar's."

Ah, so that's what this is about.

"You told me once that Ragnar came to accept you as if you were part of his own family...he must have trusted you dearly."

Reluctantly, Athelstan assented his assumption with a nod of his head. "Yes. Throughout the years I had been in Scandinavia, Ragnar Lothbrok never really treated me like a slave. In many ways, I owe him my very life." He hadn't realized that in his thought, he'd produced the golden band the northman had given him from his pocket and currently held it blatantly in his hands. "He gave me this," he confided to the king, against his better judgement, "It is the mark of a free man in Viking culture." he explained.

"And what reason did he give, to offer you freedom?" asked the king, gazing intently at the band that sat innocently on Athelstan's wrist. "It is obvious that he trusts you...but to what extent?"

"He made me an offer once," he began, nevertheless, ending abruptly upon determining the topic to be too personal, but it was too late. The king tilted his head in his curiosity, gesturing for him to continue.

Athelstan cleared his throat awkwardly. He could feel his cheeks grow warm as the thought formed in his head. "He made me the offer of his daughter, sire." he said. "His only daughter, to take as my...my wife."

"Well," stated the king, nodding thoughtfully, "It certainly takes a great amount of trust to willingly give his daughter to a man...interesting, indeed. You've come to know Earl Ragnar quite intimately, I understand...pray tell, what sort of man is he?"

"He is a family man, first and foremost." Athelstan replied without hesitation. "He is very loyal, unless the counterpart proves untrustworthy...he is not the kind of man you would want to double cross. He is also very ambitious...much like you, sire."

"And would you wager he would return to Wessex?"

Athelstan hesitated. Beginning to see through the king's innocent act, he pondered whether he should trust King Ecbert in return. There was something about him which he remained suspicious of. Carefully formulating his words, he answered as casually as possible. "As I said before, Ragnar Lothbrok is an ambitious man. Although he is unpredictable, one thing I know about him is certain...he does not abandon unfinished prospects."

* * *

***Viking proverb**


	5. Chapter 5: At the Edge of a Blade

**Hello everyone! So, just so you're aware, I did a few alterations to this story. Previously, I had made, what I now realize, was a mistake, to skip over certain events in the Vikings story line in favor for a flashback. As I continued writing, I consistantly unhappy with something and after reading over this fanfic, I'm certain it was the awkward jump in the plot line that caused my uneasiness.**

**So, now I've rewritten a few things, I feel a lot more confident about this fanfic and I hope you, as readers are much more happy with it as well. Well, without farther ado, happy reading!**

* * *

Gyda's heart pounded in so hard that she feared it might burst right out of her chest. From behind the shelter of the foliage, she peeked out into the clearing, watching for the arrival of Jarl Borg and his warriors. Her brother was crouched beside her. Although he was doing a rather sufficient job of appearing calm, she could tell that he was nearly, if not as nervous as she was. After all, this would be his first battle too. She noted his nervous habits: his hand constantly gripping his ax tighter for a few seconds before releasing the pressure, his eyes darted about the landscape, pausing at the slightest sign of movement, his body was tense with anticipation, even his breathing was abnormal.

Gyda placed her hand on his shoulder. His body relaxed slightly at the contact. Meeting her gaze, he smiled at her gratefully. In front of others, he'd always felt compelled to hide his weakness, as he was constantly trying to live up to his father's standard, but with her, he knew he could be himself. He was scared, there was no denying it, but he was was also anxious and excited, as he told her through his gaze.

You've nothing to fear, she said back to him, without having to voice a single word. I know you are a great warrior, today so will everyone else. Fight strong and focus.

He nodded, telling her he had received her message. Her hand slipped into his hand and he squeezed it encouragingly, as if to say: I know you'll be great too.

She appreciated him for that. Bjorn always had a way of making her feel safe and having him at her side today comforted her more than words could describe. Truthfully, she was frightened too, but in knowing that she'd be fighting along those she loved most, she was confident in herself and their odds. Jarl Borg was fighting out of greed, they were fighting to win back what was rightfully theirs. They had passion on their side, which she was wise enough to see as a huge advantage.

Gyda's grip tightened on the haft of her ax, her knuckles turning ghostly white. The sound of horse's hooves sounded in the distance, steadily growing louder as they neared the clearing. The sound of the horse's whinny reached their ears and Gyda flinched. For the first time, she felt fear course through her body; the fear of uncertainty.

Floki snickered with delight as he crouched beside her. A wooden war horn held lightly in his hand. "It would seem they have discovered our bait." his lips curved into the smile of a mad man as he clambered out in the open, letting out a triumphant note which rang resolutely through the country side.

Gyda's throat tightened with anticipation as she stood, strapping her shield securely onto her arm. Her feet grew heavy as she followed her fellow warriors onto the battlefield. There was no turning back now. Fate had led her to this moment and only fate knew what would become of them after.

Her body relaxed slightly when she found herself beside her mother. She smiled at her proudly and touched her arm in an effort to soothe her. "Don't worry, Dóttir." she said, returning to her steadfast position. "Think of nothing but your blade and your opponent's blade and nothing else. In battle, nothing else matters."

Gyda nodded, her eyes warily scanning the enemy lines. She hardened her expression, denying fear the pleasure of overtaking her. Fear was as much her enemy as they were and she was determined to see that they failed. "I will make you proud." she promised her. "I will prove myself to Odin, himself."

She raised her ax, high in the air and joined in the battle-cry as they charged at Jarl Borg and his men. As they made contact, chaos erupted. Gyda lost her mother in the madness, but she wasn't afraid. Men charged at her with swords and axes, but still, she wasn't afraid. She cut through their chain mail, plunged her blade into their stomachs and stabbed into their hearts. She refused to be anything but brave. Their blood painted her face, christening her as the warrior she had always known she was. It ran thickly down her face, mixing with her sweat, but she fought on nevertheless.

She was so caught up in the blood lust that she had no inclination to dodge the spear that soared through the air, aimed directly at her. At the last moment, she was shoved to the ground just as the spear lodged itself into the chest of the man she was previously engaged in battle with. As she recovered from her shock, Rollo quickly scrambled off of his niece and helped her back to her feet. "It's fortunate that I was there!" he yelled over the crowd. "Those bloody things come out of nowhere, eh, Gyda?"

She nodded quickly, thanking him as best as she could in all of the mayhem surrounding them. He nodded in acknowledgement before hurrying back into battle. As she rushed in to reclaim her place, Jarl Borg's forces had broke through their line. Gyda rushed to aid those who'd been knocked off balance, placing herself in harms way to protect them. Among them, she spotted Bjorn, lying defenseless on the ground, having lost his ax in all of the confusion. Abandoning her post, she rushed to his side.

"Bjorn!" she screamed. "Bjorn! Take mine!" as quickly as she could, she fought her way over to him, screaming in frustration, cutting down every man that stood between her and her brother. When she eventually managed to reach him, she quickly helped him to his feet, placing her ax in his hand. "Take mine, you're much better with an ax than I." she explained, unsheathing the sword that waited patiently on her hip.

Nodding at her gratefully, they parted ways. She'd only just returned to the skirmish when Jarl Borg sounded retreat. Finishing off the last of her opponents, she located her father, uncle and brother and made her way over to them. Bjorn met her half way, throwing his arm over her shoulders and smiling at her. "You did well today." he said squeezing her body closer to him in a side hug.

Rollo nodded in agreement. "I had always known that someday you would turn out like your móðir." he admitted as a smile tugged at the edge of his lips. He paused as he bent over, still catching his breath. "And you," he said, "You fought well, Bjorn."

Bjorn nodded, but his eyes staring unmovingly after the disappearing figure of Jarl Borg. "Thank you, Uncle." he said, handing Gyda back her ax. She muttered a 'thank you' and slipped it back into her belt. She watched her father uncertainly as he clenched his battle ax angrily, watching his enemy ride away with his life.

He turned and faced them, his eyes meeting them with a resolute stare. "You have a lot to learn." he declared. He clenched his jaw firmly, his hard gaze moving with him as he took his leave.

"Bjorn?" Gyda looked at her brother uncertainly. Knowing how much he wanted to please their father, she could see the disappointment in his face. She gripped his arm tightly. "The gods have spared us for another day, Bjorn." she said. "Let's go, bróðir." she tugged lightly at his arm. For a moment he hesitated, but, letting out a deep breath, he looked down on his sister and smiled, surrendering to her lead.

* * *

It had been four years since Gyda had laid eyes on Kattegat, and in many ways it appeared to be unchanged. Walking along the familiar path, memories of her childhood began appearing faintly in her mind; the forests which she and Bjorn would explore, the docks where their father would take them fishing, the children who were her playmates when she was small...everything.

As they entered the village, they were quickly surrounded by a crowd of villagers, the majority of which gathered around her mother, praising her return. Gyda hadn't expected to be recognized, she wasn't so ignorant as to presume that she hadn't changed throughout the years, she knew she had, both physically, emotionally and mentally. She was no longer the little girl that had left Kattegat four years ago, she was a young woman...a shield maiden, returning from battle. She tried her best to compose herself, despite the quizzical glances they gave her despite her inordinate discomfort of their curious examination.

Beside her, Bjorn, likewise seemed a bit uncomfortable. He held her hand tightly, displaying an uneasy grin on his face. He was glad to be back, as was she, but it was evident that both of them felt effects of time which distanced them from everyone else.

Along with the small regiment of villagers and refugees, Bjorn and she followed their father just outside of the Great Hall where they convened, waiting for word from Earl Ragnar. He took his time about addressing the masses of people, placing his son, Ubbe on the ground and patting his head before so much as looking at the crowd standing before him. He held his lips in a thin line, his piercing blue eyes scanning the crowd with an authoritative disposition.

"We have successfully won back the land that is ours." he said, his lips curving ever so slightly in a prideful grin. "And so saying, we shall make a sacrifice to the gods in celebration of our victory."

* * *

Death didn't bother Gyda. She had played witness to it ever since she was very young, as it was a common in their culture. Her father had killed, her uncle had killed, her mother had killed and now so did she and Bjorn. In addition, she had witnessed many sacrifices, savoring every gruesome detail. Sometimes she felt uneasy watching the sacrifice, but she'd never let it override her composure. However, as she watched her brother behead the man that knelt before him, she felt herself flinch as the iron cut swiftly through the flesh.

Blood freckled his face as he stood confidently over the corpse, his expression hard and challenging. It softened when he caught her eyes, the blood lust abandoning him to be replaced by exhilaration. As the crowd dispersed, Gyda approached him, pausing to dip her hand into the bowl set at the bottom of the alter which the blood pooled. "The gods will be pleased with your sacrifice." she said, smearing the blood over his face. "Certainly they shall grant us will good fortune to come."

Ragnar observed from afar the two women that lay claim to his heart. For four years now, he'd been married to Princess Aslaug and it pleased him that she'd given him many sons. He'd been content with her in Lagertha's absence, but now, in her presence he felt utterly conflicted. It was true, he'd never stopped loving her; from the moment he first set eyes on her to the present. Both had bore him children and both he admired for very different reasons.

Refraining himself from dreading over his inner conflict much longer, he attempted to shift his attention, only to have another arise. He caught a glimpse oldest of his children, Bjorn and Gyda. He watched as his daughter smeared the sacrificial blood onto her brother's face and found himself smiling. He could not have been more pleased with the people they had grown to be. Both were very intelligent and wise as well as brave and strong. Both had proved themselves to be promising warriors, of the like he'd wish to take with him on his next raid to England, but would they be here, in Kattegat, when that time arose?

It had come to Ragnar's mind every so often, the possibility of his wholesomeness being temporary. Lagertha and their children had come to help him win back his lands, now that that goal was met, would they leave him again? He wasn't certain whether he wanted to know the answer.

Ragnar was a broken man. With the return of his children, he had begun to mend, but he wasn't certain whether he'd be able to withstand the damage of them tearing away from him again, teasing him with their presence for a short period before disappearing again into time. In his heart, just as he'd known he'd one day see them again, he felt confident in his belief that their presence was to be lasting, but he had no way to knowing for sure what the future beheld.


	6. Chapter 6: A Suspicion of Fate

**Hello, everyone! I am so proud of this story at this point, so far it's proven to be very successful. I appreciate all of the reviews I've been receiving, both positive and negative. As much as I love to know that people are enjoying my work, it is also important to me to ensure that what I am writing is to the liking of my readers, thus I equally value the constructive criticism that I have occasionally received. I am loving the support that the Viking fandom has had for both my story and myself and I am happy to be a part of it. :)**

**Thanks so much and stay awesome!**

**P.S. I am sure all of us have out own idea of what we think older Gyda might look like, but if you were wanting a visual, I came across an image that came as close as possibly can be to my idea of her physical appearance. Regrettably, I cannot paste the link nor the picture itself, but I can tell you what to type in to Google! (you've got to love loopholes!) Google "Shieldmaiden of Rohan, Sanorrah" the image should be a painting on the top left corner, closest to what I described in the previous chapter.**

**(Sorry I couldn't copy the link. It would've been so much more convenient, but oh well. I tried.)**

* * *

The cold water lapped against her skin, nipping at her flesh pleasantly. Gyda waded, shin deep in the Baltic. Loosely, she held her skirt, in attempt to keep her hem dry, not that she minded much when it happened to absorb some of the moisture. As it was near evening, she was quite alone, just as she preferred it. Better to think.

She scanned the horizon thoughtfully, pausing twice: once, to the south and once, to the west. The first, in the general direction she knew somewhere, among miles of land and sea, was Hedeby, Scandinavia, where she knew her mother to be. She was happy to be in Kattegat, far away from her abusive step father, but she often feared for her mother, who had dutifully returned to him, leaving behind both Bjorn and herself in the care of their father, Ragnar Lothbrok. The second, she thought of a dear friend whom she'd ached to be reunited with for years. Somewhere, across the sea, he was, still in company of King Horik, due home any day now.

In her heart, she yearned for him, to see him again, to speak to him, as if time had never parted them. She wondered if he would even recognize her. Then it occurred to her...had time changed him as well? Would she recognize him? It mattered not. She knew that she would recognize Athelstan, even if the gods had struck her blind. He could never be a stranger to her, no matter how long they were separated.

The soft evening breeze caressed her cheek and swept her loose locks from her shoulders, curling around the braids that were weaved from the crown of her head, sewn together were they met, at the nape of her neck. She walked on, enjoying the softness of the sand as it seeped between her toes when something caught her eye from beneath the glassy surface. Curious, she bent down and extracted a small shell from the depths, or, at least, she assumed it was a shell. Once in her grasp, she examined it, admiring its intricate markings and delicate appearance. She pocketed the coin shaped shell, deciding to keep it as a present for Athelstan when he returned.

She had no sooner did so when she caught glimpse of a small fleet of ships headed towards her, roughly a league out in the open water. She squinted to make out to whom the ships belonged. Her heart leaped when she recognized them to be King Horik's war ships, the same thought repeating itself in her mind eagerly...he was back.

As quickly as she could, she gathered up her skirts and sprinted from the water to her bed chamber where she hastily went about pouring water into her washing basin, inspecting her appearance in her reflection. Carefully, she tamed her hair and pinched her cheeks to draw a gentle blush. Once more, she studied her reflection in the stagnant water. She wondered what he would see when he looked at her. Her girlish features had near disappeared by now. Her face had become slim and long, the small splash of freckles that dotted her nose when she was a child had near completely faded. Her eyes had grown bluer and her features more defined. Would he notice? Would he see the woman she'd become or the child she'd once been?

"Gyda!" her brother's voice traveled through the wooden door, startling her and causing her to jump, clutching a hand to her chest in attempt to steady her rapid heart beat. "King Horik has just returned from England. Faðir has requested our presence to greet him at the docks." He paused for a moment. "Are...are you decent?"

She nodded for a moment, then realizing that she wasn't visible to him, she answered verbally. Bjorn hesitantly opened her door, peeking around the corner shyly until his eyes met hers. Upon entering the room, he examined her, his eyes resting on her hem which was soaked at least six inches deep in sea water. Shaking his head disapprovingly, he smiled nonetheless. "Are you ready?" he asked. "I suppose you'll have to greet the king and his son as is, but it serves you right, wandering off like you do."

She rolled her eyes. "I was just by the docks and besides, I don't think King Horik will pay me any mind. He's just returned from England, certainly he'll wish to discuss the next raid, not the nature of my appearance." she reasoned. She was just about to follow Bjorn out of the room when she hesitated, inspecting herself uncertainly, straightening her dress and running her hands through her hair in hopes of making it appear descent to some extent. "Do I look alright?" she asked hopefully. "And don't you dare lie."

"You look fine." he replied hurriedly, "Now can we please go? They will be wondering where we are."

Gyda rolled her eyes once more, running her hands quickly through her hair one last time before following Bjorn out of the hall. By the time they arrived at the barge, it had already become congested with people eagerly attempting to catch a glimpse at the newcomers. Gyda strained to see over the many heads, in hopes of catching sight of her friend, but it was hopeless, there was simply too many people. Their progress was slow, when they finally reached Ragnar and Princess Aslaug, they were already greeting King Horik and his son, Prince Erlendur.

Upon catching sight of them, their father proceeded to beckon them forward. "Bjorn, Gyda, may I present King Horik and his son, Erlendur. King Horik, these are my eldest of my children, Bjorn and Gyda, two more worthy warriors that shall accompany us on our next raid to England." He smiled proudly, his hand clasping Bjorn's shoulder roughly.

The king nodded thoughtfully, analyzing the pair with a hard glance. "Yes." he agreed, his eyes falling back on Ragnar after a minimal amount of consideration. "Wessex. Such a beautiful, strange land, as I've come to know it. I'm sure our next raid will prove more successful than this one, with both your children and my son by our side."

Ragnar nodded. "I should like to hear more about your time in Wessex." he declared. "Come, let us talk over dinner."

* * *

Gyda fidgeted, searching as discretely as she could for the priest, her eyes darting about from one man to another, occasionally lingering on one of them, mistaking him to be Athelstan. Beside her, her stepmother, Princess Aslaug, shifted uncomfortably, trying her best to appear gracious to her guests, despite the lingering tension. Bjorn, at her right, engaged in conversation with Erlendur which she occasionally joined in, but all small talk at the head table soon died away as her father spoke.

"You'll have to forgive the poverty of the feast." he said, gesturing to the little food they had set before them. "It has been a hard winter. We had to burn our own grain stores to rid ourselves of Jarl Borg."

"So I heard." King Hork replied, otherwise unsympathetic to their recent hardships.

Ragnar pursed his lips. As he had not received the reaction he had anticipated from King Horik, he shifted his attention to his son. His lips curled into a small smile, looking at the young man expectantly. "Tell us, Erlendur, what happened in England after we left?"

"Ecbert never meant to honor his promises to you." King Horik provided in place of his son, who, remaining silent despite being directly addressed, proceeded to satisfy his thirst. "We were betrayed, taken by surprise. There was a great slaughter. Erlendur and I barely escape with our lives."

Gyda's heart dropped. Slaughter? The sickening feeling overwhelmed her of the possibilities. At this point, she couldn't bear all of the horrible thoughts massing about in her mind, she had to know the truth. "What about Athelstan?" she blurted out, without so much as a second thought. "Where is he now?" she asked eagerly, earning a few disapproving glances from her father and uncle as women were not usually permitted to engage in conversations concerning important matters unless they were directly addressed. Frankly, she believed the notion of women to be seen and not heard as pure idiocy and sexism; she didn't care the slightest bit what they thought, all that mattered was Athelstan. She stared King Horik, her jaw set and eyes stern and serious, demanding an answer from him.

King Horik clenched his jaw, meeting her threatening gaze casually. He considered ignoring the girl, but in the end shrugged and acquiesced to her demands. "If he is fortunate, he died in battle. In any case, let's not speak of him, he was a worthless individual."

"Poor Athelstan." Bjorn thought aloud, ignoring Horik's closing remark. He exchanged a glance with Gyda, wrapping his hand around hers and smiling sadly as he squeezed her hand to offer her comfort and strength. "My sister and I grew to love him when we were children."

"He fooled you, young Bjorn." Floki declared, looking up at him from the opposite end of the table. "He never denounced his Christian God. He was our enemy. We should rejoice at his death." he reasoned, before returning to his food.

Gyda opened her mouth to challenge him, seeking to unleash the fire that burned in her chest, but Bjorn restrained her. "Don't." he whispered, soothing her back into her seat. "We both know Floki will never be convinced otherwise, there is no point in arguing with him."

As much as she hated to admit it, he was right. It was common knowledge that Floki never did nor never would be fond of Athelstan. The reasoning behind the fact wasn't always clear, but Gyda knew better than to cross that line. Taking a deep breath, she settled herself into her seat, paying more attention to her half empty plate than to the conversation.

"So, what do you intend on doing now?" Ragnar continued, avoiding the previous topic completely.

"What do you think, Ragnar?" King Horik replied, his incredulous tone not going unnoticed. "I intend on gaining revenge on King Ecbert. We should plan a raid as soon as possible."

"I would be very happy to take part in it." Rollo cut in, meeting the King's eyes with his determination. Gyda knew very well that her father had not yet granted him permission for her uncle to begin raiding with him again, but something in his tone told her that there would be no negotiations. "King Ecbert should certainly be punished." he concluded.

"I agree." said her father, nodding his head thoughtfully. "We should return to Wessex. But first, Jarl Borg must pay the price for what he did to my family and to our people."

"I understand completely, and, if I were you, I would feel the same way, but we must remember our agreement and what it was for." King Horik replied. He took a sip of his mead, taking his time about continuing with his reasoning. When he finally returned to his discourse it was with a mocking tone, as if he was talking down to a child, convincing her father of what he already knew."We would sail west to raid and colonize. That was your dream, Ragnar and I have come to share it, but now we have neither the men nor the ships to realize our dreams."

"What are you saying?" her father inquired, trying his best to stifle his annoyance.

"I think we should go back to Jarl Borg." Horik explained. "He is licking his wounds, he is no longer as strong as he was and yet, we need him. We cannot go without his ships and so, once again, we should ask him to join our alliance."

"But who should go to Jarl Borg?" Rollo inquired, leaning forward in attempt to farther insert himself into the conversation.

"I think it should be you, Rollo." King Horik suggested. "After all, you know him better than anyone. What do you think?" His suggestive tone bread a tense and uncomfortable silence in which an unspoken agreement was formed. There was nobody else who had a chance of reestablishing good graces with the Jarl, Rollo was the only one who had never been caught in a major dispute with him. There was no question that it should be him that journeyed to Götaland.

* * *

"He is a fool." Gyda muttered under her breath in a candid tone. She watched insidiously as the long ship carrying her uncle departed from the docks in pursuit of Götaland on King Horik's request. "Sending him on a fool's errand. Does he honestly think that that...that insolent brute will honor the agreement? Twice now, he's proven untrustworthy and still that impertinent so-called King seeks his alliance." Shaking her head, she resumed rocking her half-brother, Sigurd, who slept peacefully in her arms.

Beside her, Aslaug allowed herself to smile. "As I told your Faðir." she paused, taking her sons' hands and beckoning her to follow her as she shepherded her children back to the Great Hall. "But, alas, we are merely women. Whether we like it or not, we live in a man's world where we have but the power to influence." she smiled as she set Hvitserk on the front steps of the Great Hall and tickled his tummy until he giggled uncontrollably. "We raise them and marry them, and have naught but the hope that you've lead them down the right path...given they've heeded your word."

Gyda nodded as she took a seat beside her stepmother who'd taken Hvitserk her lap and rocked him gently. "So, I gather that you presume Faðir has a trick up his sleeve?" she nodded in response to herself. "Yes, he'd have to, wouldn't he? Faðir isn't the kind of man to allow someone to go unpunished after double-crossing him, but then why would he agree to accept Jarl Borg as his ally?"

"That, I can't answer." Aslaug sighed, clasping her hands together as she pursed her lips ruefully. "A woman can only get so much out of her husband when he's reluctant to share." her lips curled into a small smile as she met her stepdaughter's gaze. Lowering her voice, she continued with her unfinished response. "Truthfully, I think Ragnar isn't quite certain of what he's going to do, himself."

Gyda smirked. As much as she resented the princess, in her mother's absence, Aslaug had proven herself to be a much needed comfort to her and Gyda had even grown to like her. Part of her would always harbor acrimony because of what she had done to her mother and ultimately to family, but, as it would seem, that wound would merely become another scar etched into her flesh, soon to be naught but another painful memory.

Urging Ubbe and Hvitserk to go and play, Aslaug watched her stepdaughter as she rocked Sigurd gently, humming an ancient lullaby as she did, examining her contemplatively. "Someday, Gyda, you will make an excellent móðir." she determined.

Gyda considered her words for a moment before nodding. "Someday, I suppose."

"Is there no one who has earned your attentions? No suitors? Lovers?"

Gyda shook her head. "I guess finding a husband is not one of my priorities as of yet."

Without think twice about it, Aslaug contorted her expression to that of confusion, her eyebrows knitting together followed by her lips pursing and nose scrunching. "Funny, I could have sworn there was a special somebody you were eager to greet the day the raiding party returned." Shrugging, she offered Gyda a good-natured smile. "My mistake, I suppose."

Despite herself, Gyda's cheeks burnt a deep crimson. "He's not what you think..." she replied in a small voice. "He's not my lover, he's just...just a friend." she insisted, partly in need of convincing herself of that truth. "There is nothing more to it."

Aslaug smirked. "A friendship between a man and a woman inevitably blooms into love, as I've come to find." she asserted. "Pray tell, what be the fellow's name? Perhaps I know him." She scooted closer, her voice shifting to a gossipy tone, she watched Gyda intently, her ears prepared to catch every detail. "Go on," she pressed. "At least just his name."

Contrary to her belief that she could not possibly blush harder than she had been a few moments prior, her cheeks continued to burn hotter and hotter as her flesh continued changing hues as she found herself uttering the name, "Athelstan."

* * *

**I hope this chapter suffices. I do hope to update more often in the future. This chapter would have been up a lot sooner if it weren't for AP testing and other such end of the year events. Anyways, now that things are beginning to settle down, I hope to have more time to set aside to write.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7: In the Dead of the Night

Gyda grumbled to herself as she undid the same unfinished row of her weaving for the third time. No matter how hard she tried to distance her thoughts from the tribulations of late, she couldn't seem to succumb to the task. Sighing submissively, she had just begun resuming her work, trying once again to weave the long strand of wool in and out of the woollen forest stretched before her on the loom, when, from behind her, someone cleared their throat.

Slightly startled, she wheeled around to meet the tenacious gaze of her father. Regaining her composure, she regarded him sardonically. "You wish to speak with me, Faðir?" she said stoutly, her questioning tone merely being for show.

His lips curled into a smirk, he pondered at the likeness between his daughter and her mother. Pushing this bittersweet contemplation out of his mind he restored his business-like demenor. "I seek your counsel." he replied in his usual blunt, straightforward tone.

"Oh?" said she, in mock incredulity. "Whatever for?"

Ragnar smiled admirably at his daughter's spunkiness. Motioning for her to sit beside him at the long table that took up the majority of the space in the room, he revealed his reasoning. "You have grown into a beautiful young lady," he began, "but you are more than that. You are strong, wise and independent, much like your móðir." he paused, observing her insightful expression. "I trust that you have noticed things that I have not; seen things which I've been blinded of in my arrogance."

Gyda pursed her lips skeptically. "I appreciate your complementaries, Faðir, but I cannot help but wonder, what counsel could you receive from me that you could not from Bjorn or Aslaug or any of your other advisors?"

Again, her father smirked. He had expected such inquisition, which he readily responded. "Unlike them, Gyda, you are astute. You can clearly assess things with a rational mind, whereas others act in rage or selfishness. This is a valuable quality, one that makes you strong, exceeding that of physical strength." he paused, his expression turning serious as he returned to the matter at hand. "I came to talk to you about Jarl Borg." he explained, "I know you do not agree with my decision to ally with Jarl Borg and surely you must know that I was hesitant to invite him back into our raiding party, as I still am. What I want to know is what would _you _do if you were in my predicament."

Gyda paused, contorting her face as she fell deep thought. "Jarl Borg cannot go unpunished," she determined, after a long period of silence. "But, so does King Ecbert, as King Horik says. He is also right about another thing, you cannot make another journey to Wessex without more men and supplies."

"So what do you propose?"

Gyda raised her chin in her confidence. "I propose that you find another ally." she stated simply.

Ragnar nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I've thought of that." he sighed. "Alas, Jarl Borg has already agreed to renew his aliance with King Horik and myself. Rollo has sent word that they shall be arriving in Kattegat with the Jarl by weeks' end."

Gyda shrugged indifferently. "Let him come." said she. "His presence in Kattegat might prove to be in your favor."

Ragnar raised his eyebrows curiously. "How so?"

"He will be on your territory. _He _is the one that shall be scavenging to be in your good graces again. Yes, we are vaunderable, but not near as vaunderable as he will when he arrives in Kattegat." Searching her father's face for understading, she lowered her voice whispering to him urgently. "Make him feel accepted, engage in pleasantries, earn his trust. Only after you do this, can you claim your vengeance."

Taking in this information, Ragnar ran his hands over his beard as he considered her words. "Yes. I want him to suffer...severely. I want to satisfy my hatred with his pain."

Gyda cocked her head, gazing at him curiously. "Do you thirst for blood, Faðir?" she asked, despite already being well aware of the answer.

He nodded, slowly, then faster as he became more certain. "Yes, I crave his blood."

Knowingly, she nodded. "Very well. You shall have blood, if that is what you desire, but you must heed my advice if you want your reward. Can you do that?"

Hesitantly, he nodded. "Yes, I trust you."

"Good," she said. She stood, casually returning to her weaving, leading the string of wool that she'd momentarily abandoned through the forest of strings as she spoke. "Now, on the matter of King Ecbert...this too makes the matter concerning Jarl Borg difficult. You must keep in mind that if you publicly execute Jarl Borg, it will surely deter the possiblity of any potential allies, which poses my prior instructions to welcome him as a gracious host. Do you understand? Wait to spill his blood until _after _you've secured a new partner." She peeked at her father over her shoulder expectantly.

Smiling in utter disbelief he shook his head. "When did you become so intelligent?"

Gyda blushed, her ever-present shyness suddenly overcoming her. "Well, my parents taught me a thing or two..." her lips curled into a small smile as her father took her in his arms, holding her and running his hands through her hair absentmindedly, as he did when she was a little girl.

He chuckled lightly as he released her, inspecting her thoughtfully. "Yes, I think your móðir and I have done something right with you." His smile faded at the mention of his ex-wife and he cleared his throat to remedy his discomfort. His eyes moving about to avoid her, he began to edge his way to the door. "Thank you for your advice, Gyda. You have proven to be a very valuable advisor and confidant, I shall keep you in mind if ever I'm in need of counsel again."

Gyda nodded, watching him uneasily as he turned his back to her. She fidgeted, wondering if she should dare ask what she wanted so badly to say. He was nearly at the door...if she wanted to say something, she needed to say it now...

She couldn't help it.

"Faðir?" she squeaked, being rather unsure of herself.

"Yes?" said he, turning to face her once more.

Nervously, she shifted her weight, avoiding his eyes at all costs. "I was just wondering..." said she, "Do you truly believe what King Horik said? About Athelstan, I mean...surely you don't believe that he's...he's _gone _do you?"

Sighing, Ragnar returned to his daughter's side, laying a comforting hand upon her shoulder. "I want to believe that he is still alive." he replied. "I hope that somehow, he has lived to fight another day, but I have no way of knowing for sure what his fate was."

Gyda frowned. "I don't know if I'm foolish or not, to hope that he's alive." she admitted. "But my heart simply will not accept his death."

Ragnar smiled at his daughter sadly, his finger tracing over her soft cheek. "Only the gods know where he is now." he said. "Hope with all your heart, my dear girl, but also keep in mind that some things are out of our control. Our lives are fated from the moment we are born, nothing you or I do can change that."

Gyda nodded understandingly, sighing helplessly. "I know."

"Stay strong, dóttir." he added, giving her a sentimental pat on the shoulder. "If it's fated, we shall see Athelstan again."

* * *

Gyda watched curiously from afar as her brother talked with the servant girl. This wasn't the first time she'd noticed them together, nor was it the first time that she caught him gazing at her with evident desire in his eyes. Smiling to herself, she plucked a few more flowers from the spot which she sat upon the base of a large hill, just at the edge of the village. Although Bjorn most likely didn't realize it himself, it was obvious to her that he was smitten.

She had to admit, the servant girl _was _rather pretty. That did not eliminate, however, the fact that she was, in fact, a slave. Bjorn, being the son of an jarl was expected to marry a free woman, and even then, one of equal or superior rank to himself, as he would someday inherit his father's title.

She watched curiously as the girl resumed her work, prompting him to leave her to it. It did not escape her notice, however, that in their parting it was the servent girl who beheld a longing gaze in place of her brother. Yes, there was definately something between the two, Gyda had decided, even if it was only an affair.

Keeping these thoughts in mind, she smiled brightly at her brother as he came to sit next to her in her grassy perch. For a time, they merely sat, enjoying each other's company, Bjorn watching her with great intrest as she weaved her flowers into a sweet-smelling garland.

"I've talked with Faðir." she said, eventually, her fingers still busied with the task of twisting the long stems into a crown shape.

Bjorn straightened with interest, his eyes moving from her hands to her eyes. "About?" he pressed.

"He's conflicted." she explained. "His mind is set on revenge, but his ambition stays his hand. You know as well as I that he has long dreamed of colonizing new lands and discovering new places. We know our faðir, and that always, deep down he will be the humble farmer he once was. Title and fame won't change that."

Bjorn nodded, reminiscing their childhood in the countryside. Life was so mush simpler then, it seemed like a lifetime ago. "I think it is the same with all of us." said he. "We were not born into nobility. Peasant blood courses through our veins; power makes people forget that."

Gyda nodded thoughtfully. "Aye," she agreed, "I think it is power that has clouded his mind."

"How so?" Bjorn inquired, raising his eyebrows curiously at her.

"He has always been an ambitious man, but now his ambition is his only motivation." she sighed, eyeing her brother with concern. "I worry about him, Bjorn. I worry that one of these days someone will have had enough of his power hunger and something terrible will happen to him."

Sympathetically, he took her hand. "Don't worry about Faðir," he insisted, "He is a smart man. He knows what he's doing."

Gyda nodded, allowing him to set aside the matter for the time-being. Returning to her weaving, her lips curled into a knowing grin. "Yes, well, I'm surprised you've noticed change in anyone else since that girl has caught your eye."

Bjorn blushed, averting his gaze, thus validating her suspicions.

Gyda smirked. "What is her name?"

"Porunn." he replied, his lips curling into a small smile. "She's a good girl, Gyda. I can tell."

Gyda bit her lip. "Bjorn, I'm happy for you, I really am, but how well do you _really_ know her?" she sighed, hating herself for bringing him down like she did, but she also knew it was for his best interest that she mentioned it. "Bjorn...all I'm trying to say is that you need to be careful, okay? For her sake and yours."

This time, it was Bjorn who sighed. "Someday, some lucky man will catch your eye and then you will know how I feel." He nudged her teasingly. "But that doesn't mean any time soon, alright? You are, first and foremost, my little sister."

Gyda smiled, leaning her head upon his shoulder. "Like it or not, Bjorn, things are going to change."

"Unfortunately." he agreed. "But at least we have here and now." He wrapped an arm around her waist and rested his chin upon her head smiling pleasantly as they watched the people bustled about in the village square.

"Hear, hear!" she concured heartily. Having finished her garland, she set it upon Bjorn's head, giggling hysterically as it fell over his eyes. Adjusting the flower-crown, she and her brother shared a lighthearted smile. Sighing happily, she laid her head, once again, upon his shoulder. "Change can be good." she mused. "May the gods grant us a generous fate."

* * *

Jarl Borg arrived, as predicted, at weeks' end. In honor of his arrival and the rekindling of their alliance, Ragnar had a feast organized, upon Gyda's advice.

"By showing him that he is welcome, he will lessen his precautions and suspicions," she explained. She sat with her father beside the central hearth, around them people danced and ate, enjoying the festivities, paying the pair little to no mind as they, once more went over their plot. "Be courteous, but do not be completely accepting of his presence. If you seem to be _too _tolerent of him, he will continue to be suspicious of you."

Ragnar nodded, taking a sip of his ale.

She straightened, her eyes catching sight of the Jarl as he slowly made his way over to them. Smiling, she took a sip of her ale as she stood to leave. "The man of the hour approaches." said she. "Good luck, Faðir. Heed my word, and all will commence accordingly." Patting his shoulder as an act of encouragement, she took her leave, disappearing into the crowd.

Discretely, she positioned herself in a spot where she could still overhear the conversation. She watched with great interest as her father beckoned his enemy to join him beside the hearth. In return, the uncertain looking Jarl accepted his invitation reluctantly, every move that he made being tense and cautious.

"Earl Ragnar Lothbrok," said he, "Can I say, in all honesty, you're a greater man than I am." She could see the truth in his eyes as he gazed at her father, which surprised her. Eagerly, she strained her ears as he continued. "I know I don't deserve the chance you have given me to raid and work with you, but I swear on my ring, from henceforth, you've no reason to doubt my loyalty or my commitment to our common cause."

Her father, however, did not seem shocked at the Jarl's words. Casually, he accepted them, no doubt sizing him up in order to decide whether or not you should believe Jarl Borg's so-called 'truth'. Leaning towards him, her father spoke in a humorless tone. "If we are being honest, I can tell you that it was King Horik who argued for the renewal of our alliance." he admitted, "As you can imagine, I was not, at first, enthusiastic. But then...then I realized what could be gained by inviting you." His eyes found Gyda's momentarily as his lips curved into a smirk upon turning his attentions back to the Jarl.

"We have much to gain if we work together." pressed Jarl Borg, "And a lot to lose if we don't. Even I can see that now."

Her father offered him a small smile as he rose to his feet, beckoning over his friend, Torstein. "Put Jarl Borg's men in the barn which the servants use." he ordered. "And treat them with respect."

Torstein nodded, "Of course, My Lord."

She was so engaged in the conversation that she nearly spilt her ale out of surprise when a hand unexpectantly clasped her shoulder. Gasping in response, she wheeled around to find herself face to face with none other than Erlender, son of King Hork. "I am sorry if I have startled you, Malady." he apologized quickly. "It was not my intention."

Shaking her head, she quickly dismissed it. "No, not at all," she lied, "I was just...just lost in thought."

Erlendur chuckled. "My faðir tells me you will be joining us on our next raid to Wessex, is this true?" he inquired.

Nodding, she smiled pridefully. "It is true." she replied. "My brother and I look forward to our first raid. It has always been a dream of ours to sail west with Faðir."

Nodding, the prince returned her smile. "Yes, your presence will be most welcome. It is always a privilege to have such beautiful women in our company." he said, certain to add a flirtatious grin.

Gyda raised her eyebrows at this. This boy really thought he was something, didn't he? Luckily, she saw right through him. Casually, she took a sip of her ale, all the while holding his gaze. "Must I remind you, Erlendur Horiksson, that I am as much of a warrior as yourself. Like my móðir before me, I shall fight and possibly die along side all of you men."

"Of course." he replied, stiffening as he was undoubtedly taken aback at her response. Obviously unaccustomed to being spoken to as such by a woman. "It is a pity, however that such a lovely creature such as yourself should be thrown into harms way. If I may be so bold to say, never before have I beheld such a woman whom captivated me as much as you, it would be my honor to ensure your safety, as I feel it is only right to protect the delicate, fairer sex from such things proven to be less accustomed to them."

"I am very much capable of protecting myself." She replied with an edge of irritation in her voice.

"Indeed," said he, otherwise ignoring her as he continued with, what he assumed, was flattery. "It is my hope that you consider my assistance if ever you be in need, on or off of the battlefield. Despite your..._unfortunate _former upbringing I'd venture to say that I am quite taken with you."

She raised her eyebrows, unable to help taking offense to his blunt discreditation of her sex and social standings. Her 'unfortunate unbringing'? "I am not the sort of girl, _Prince _Erlender, that falls subject to flattery." She clenched her jaw, regarding him indignantly. "Now, if you excuse me, I believe I will retire to my chambers as I have grown weary of the night's _pursuits_." She stressed the last word, hoping that he caught her meaning.

Turning on her heel, she quickly put as much distance between herself and the young prince as possible as she had no intention of accepting his advances, hoping that now he was disinclined to further seek her favor.

* * *

In the dead of the Gyda lay awake, unable to sleep as she knew what scheme was in progress just outside her window. Her heart raced like mad, wondering whether the plan she had formed with her father would prove successful; if it should fail...no. She mustn't allow herself to think such things. Holding her breath, she listened for the sound of footsteps entering the Great Hall, only then would she know that all had gone according to plan. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears. Each minute felt like an eternity.

Her breath caught in her throat as the sound of hurried footsteps came into earshot. Sitting up eagerly, she listened intently as the outraged voice of King Horik met her ears. "What is all the commotion?" he demanded in a persistant tone.

Anxiously, she scrambled out of bed, wandering through the darkness of the building to the Great Hall, all the while listening intently to the conversation that commenced in the other room.

"I am sorry, that the ambiance of Kattegat has awoken you." Her father replied in his candid tone.

There was a pause before the King replied. "What is the cause of this?"

Uncertainly, Gyda emerged from around the corner, meeting the the eyes of her father and her half brother, Ubbe before turning her attention to the king and his son. Wordlessly, she took her half brother in her arms, moving the pair of them out of the men's way, calmly watching the tense exchange commence.

Before her father could reply, a group of men burst through the doors to the Hall, a beaten and bloodied man held limply in their rough grasp. Expressionlessly, she watched, as, laid at their feet, was the barely conscious form of Jarl Borg.

"Is he dead?" Horik inquired, eyeing the mangled body of the Jarl uneasily.

Floki grinned, stalking around Jarl Borg's frail body like a lion at its prey. "No, no, no." he chuckled to himself, examining his masterpiece, taking pride in each bruise and cut that tainted the Jarl's flesh. "He's not dead." he replied, meeting the King's gaze with a malicious glint in his eyes. "Yet." Cocking his head to the side, he kicked the already battered man in the side, earning a weak groan, as if genuinely curious about what kind of unique response he would receive following each blow.

"Why have you done this?" Horik continued to press.

Glancing at Gyda, he turned back at the King, regarding him in a straightforward manner. "Did you really think that I could ever forgive this man for threatening to kill my family?" he replied, his eyes locked on the suffering man before him. In his eyes, Gyda could clearly find the satisfaction that he so craved. Pressing his lips tightly together in thought, she observed as ideas began to circulate in his mind.

"So, what will you do now?" the King inquired in horrified interest.

His hand grazing her shoulder as he walked past, Ragnar walked down the steps to meet his enemy. Turning him over on his back, Ragnar studied him, looking him in the eyes, considering him without the slightest trace of sympathy. He cocked his head, giving him an icy stare as he grinned malevolently, allowing the demons that haunted his mind to plant horrible thoughts into his head. "Since you consort with eagles," he said to him, decisively, "I will draw a blood eagle on your back."

Looking away, fearful of his fate, Jarl Borg shook his head. "No." he pleaded desperately.

"And your ribcage," her father continued, ignoring his anquished protests, "Will spring apart."

Once more, the Jarl eyed him pleadingly, placing his hands upon his condemner's cheeks, his eyes searching him for the smallest sign of mercy. "No." he begged.

"Yes." her father insisted, unclasping his hands from his face as he stood over him, claiming his victory, his resolve strengthening in response to the Jarl's growing weakness. Raising his arms in the air, mimicking a bird, he stared down at him remorselessly. "Like wings."


	8. Chapter 8: Answers in Blood

Not a day passed since Lagertha left Kattegat those many months ago that she did not think of her children. She ached to see them, to hug and kiss their cheeks as she had when they were babies, cradled in her arms. She'd accepted this small pain, however, in reminding herself that they would be safer there, with their father, away from the mad man whom she'd been foolish enough to marry. Since her second husband's death and the acquiry of her earldom, she had wasted no time in pursuing what she knew would benefit both herself and her people.

When word had reached Hedeby that Earl Ragnar was looking to find a new ally to raid England, the subject was immediately presented to the populace, the vast majority of which readily supported the notion. Having the support of her people, however, was the easy part, the hard part was winning Ragnar's favor.

Presently, her heart beat echoed dully in her ears. Anxiously, she fidgeted in her saddle, her mind still uncertain as to whether her actions were brave or just stupid. She hadn't seen her ex husband since she'd helped him reclaim his lands many months ago, yet here she was, under a false name, ranked as his equal and this time it was she who held Ragnar's fate in her hands. Without her, she knew perfectly well that he was incapable of sailing west. Surely that alone would be enough for him to accept her as his partner...he had already agreed to meet her, but he was expecting this _Earl Ingstad_...would he change his mind once he realized her true identity?

Drawn out of her thoughts, she straightened as her man announced the sighting of a group of riders approaching. Taking a deep breath, she urged her horse forward, prepared to meet her equal.

"Earl Ingstad?" He called uncertainly, his eyes falling upon one of her men in his assumption.

Taking this as her cue, she rode out from behind the foliage, eyeing him impishly, a sly smile gracing her lips. She watched him delightedly as he chuckled to himself, urging his horse forward. "Earl Ingstad." He mused, riding around her, examining her with wonderment and amusement. He smirked. "You bear a strong resemblance to my ex-wife."

She stiffened, unsure of what thoughts massed about in his mind. "If I had given you my true name," she reasoned, "You might have turned me away."

He said nothing, pausing a moment to meet her gaze before continuing with his examination. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of earning her discomfort, she sat resolutely upon her stead, denying him the opportunity to question her newly endowed authority.

"How are the children?" she posed, unsure of what else to say.

His intense gaze unfaltering, he replied casually. "They are happy." he provided. "They are looking forward to going to England."

Smirking, she eyed him suggestively. "As am I."

"So," said he, "You are truly an Earl?"

"Yes." she replied coolly. "We are equal." She smiled smugly, enjoying the satisfaction of her ex-husband's dumbfoundedness. "I'm sure this is difficult for you." she couldn't help but add.

Smiling at her admiringly, he thought the contrary. "It is not difficult at all." he replied. Returning to the subject of business, he stopped his horse before her. "How many ships?"

"Four ships." she replied. "And over one hundred warriors." It was a generous offer, but would it be enough? She looked at him hopefully. "So, will you accept me as an ally?"

Ragnar grunted uncertainly. "That depends."

"On what?"

"I have been betrayed by earls before." he explained. Leaning forward in emphasis and suspicion. "So," he continued, "If you are really Earl Ingstad, then it's a no. But if you are still the Lagertha I remember, then it is a yes." Smirking, he turned his horse, glancing over his shoulder as he led her away from their accompanists.

"Earl Ingstad." he marveled, shaking his head as he released a chuckle. "You must tell me how this came to be."

Shrugging nonchalantly, Lagertha urged her horse to a halt beside Ragnar's sliding off its back and stood before him. "It was quite simple." she said casually. "My husband was not a respected man nor was he completely sane. I killed him when the moment was right and I was made earl."

Nodding impressively, Ragnar grinned. "_You _killed him?"

"Yes." she affirmed. "He was a cruel and vile man and I've no regret for my actions."

"Yes, so the children have told me." he agreed. Tying his horse's reins to a nearby tree, he took a seat on the ground, pausing for a moment before he motioned for her to join him. "They've both told me many stories of this, 'Earl Sigvard'. I am glad to hear of his death, and especially glad that it was at your hand, I wonder, however, why you chose to marry him in the first place and once you knew his true character, why, then, did you wait so long before disposing of him?" he asked pointedly, staring at her curiously.

Raising her chin defensively, she stiffened. "You know me well enough to know that I am not one to allow myself to be over-powered." she said. Leaning back on her hands, Lagertha studied him uncertainly. "You may not trust me like you used to, but I ask you to believe me when I tell you that marrying Sigvard was the best thing I could do, for myself and for the children in that point in time."

Ragnar scoffed. "You expect me to believe that marrying a man that mistreats both you and the children was the best option you had to protect yourselves?" he shook his head, appalled at her words. "Lagertha, surely you can see how it would be hard for me to accept."

"We were all on our own, Ragnar." she attested, "Whether I liked it or not, women have no power in this world. I could not provide for the children, let alone myself without a husband."

"So you married an arse."

"I did not know his true character until after we had been married." she claimed. "You know me better than to assume that I would allow my children to be harmed in any way and you of all people should know that I would not marry a man whom I had any suspicions." she countered. "Sigvard was a doting suitor and he fooled me into thinking that he was a generous, kind-hearted man. It was not until a week into our marriage that he began behaving impudently towards us."

"Yet, you did not leave him." Ragnar noted, hurt mixed with anger radiating from his firm tone.

"I couldn't." she explained. "I was able to leave to come to your aid at the expense of my well-being. When I returned, he used the absence of Bjorn and Gyda as his excuse to have me beaten. He would have done far worse if I would have remained in Kattegat, and then the children would be in the path of his wrath. I did what I could, Ragnar, for the children's sake."

Crossing his arms, Ragnar pursed his lips. The truth in her eyes were evident, he could physically see how their years apart had both strengthened and weakened her, making him immediately feel guilty for his anger. Sighing, he looked away from her, his jaw clenched. "Di-Did you love him?" he asked. As much as he had wanted to drop the uncomfortable topic, not knowing if he'd truly lost Lagertha was pushing him to the brink of insanity. His eyes met hers pleadingly, fearful of her answer.

Sighing deeply, she met his gaze with serious intensity. "I believe the reason he was so cruel to the children and I is because he knew that I was still in love with you. He hated how much Bjorn favored you, the older he got, the more they grew to loathe each other." she pursed her lips, waiting for his reaction. "I don't think I can ever stop loving you, Ragnar, but I do not trust you."

Wincing at her words, he offered her a small smile in an attempt to offer her a small apology. "We shall have to remedy that." he said. "If we are going to be allies, I will be needing your trust, even if it is just a portion of it."

Raising her chin decisively, Lagertha nodded. "You have my trust as an ally, but any more than that is still in question."

"Fair enough." he allowed.

A short silence passed between them in which they merely studied each other. Lagertha, with uncertainty, wondering if Ragnar, the humble farmer she once knew and had fallen in love with still existed somewhere deep inside this Earl Ragnar whom she'd grown resent. Ragnar, in return, marveled at her, a woman whom once captivated him with her beauty and strength, and how she continued to amaze him with her willingness and persistence. Tension lingered between them, but neither would allow it to bother them. If fate brought them together, there was a reason for it and neither would let their past hardships dictate that.

"How are the children?" Lagertha inquired, shifting slightly as she watched him uncertainly, trying to decipher him.

"They are happy." he replied after a time. "It does Bjorn good to be with Rollo and I. He will be a great warrior, I am sure of it."

"And Gyda?" Lagertha pressed, leaning forward anxiously. Though she'd never allow herself to care for one of her children above the other, there was no denying that there was a special bond between Lagertha and her daughter. Whereas Bjorn was confident and impulsive, Gyda was reserved and thoughtful. Often times whilst Bjorn sought out adventure, following in the footsteps of his father, it would be her sweet, sensible Gyda whom constantly kept her company. If ever a bond between a mother and daughter be so precious and endearing, it would be theirs. Not a day passed that her heart did not ache for her children, and now, being so near to them, she could not resist her pressing curiosity.

She watched Ragnar with growing interest as a knowing smile crossed his face. Leaning his back against a tree he shook his head as a good-natured chuckle slipped past his lips. "I always knew she was an intelligent girl, but sometimes I fear her intelligence might someday soon surpass mine...if it hasn't already." he smiled, casting his eyes downward in thought. "Sometimes I wonder what happened to my sweet little girl and when she managed to morph into the beautiful, strong...woman I see before me now." he paused, meeting Lagertha's eyes with a mo re serious tone. "She's cunning, Lagertha, and wise. I've found a very valuable ally in our daughter."

Raising her eyebrows, she cocked her head curiously. "Gyda? How so?"

"I made her one of my advisers." he explained. "In fact, I would give her most of the credit for the capture of Jarl Borg. She is wise beyond her years and understands what, even I, do not. It would seem that both of our children shall come to surpass me with time," he admitted, "They are barely on the brink of adulthood and already they amaze me."

Lagertha nodded wordlessly, as the mere thought of her precious children filled her with a longing sort of sorrow. Biting her lip, she tried her best to withhold her feelings as she carefully avoided Ragnar's gaze for fear that he might think her to be weak. "I am sure."

A moment of silence passed between them before Ragnar grunted and stood. "Well, you need not take my word for it." he said. Holding out his hand, he struggled to suppress his smile. "Come, 'Earl Ingstad', allow me to escort you to Kattegat."

* * *

The water was calm that afternoon. The cool, glass-like sheet nipping at their calves as Bjorn waded in the fjord with his sister, Gyda. He watched her admirably as she pranced about, holding her skirts against her chest in a poor attempt to keep them dry. Though she was on the threshhold of womanhood, it pleased him that she still beheld some of her child-like nature.

"The sea water is refreshing, is it not?" she said. Bjorn, who had lost himself within the confinds of his mind, did not so much as flinch at her words. Annoyed, Gyda pursed her lips, but nearly as quickly as her offense had been contrived, did she discover a remedy.

Cupping her hands, she splashed the cold water at her brother, giggling profusely as he shuttered and then fell in his surprise. "What was that for?!" he demanded, scrambling to his feet. He grumbled to himself as he assessed his damp tunic.

Gyda smirked, watching her brother with amusement. "Maybe next time you'll listen to me the _first_ time I talk to you." she replied. "What possibly has such a claim on you thoughts that you cannot hear me when I speak?"

"Do you ever wonder what fate shall meet us?" he replied after a time. "Some say that fate cannot be predicted, but to me, it would seem like the present is merely a forshadowing of what is to come."

Pursing her lips, Gyda cocked her head, thoughtfully analyzing her brother's words. Shrugging, she replied indifferently. "Faðir and Móðir always said that one should not dwell upon fate, as it is already decided, but focus upon life as it meets us." Lifting her skirts, she waded over to him, examining him curiously. "Does something trouble you? Do not lie to me, Bróðir," she said, offering him a small smile, "I know you too well."

Pausing, Bjorn met his sister's gaze. Mimicking her smile, he opened his mouth to respond, but was cut short by a large commotion in the village square. "What do you suppose..."

"The new ally!" Gyda exclaimed, wasting no time in grasping Bjorn's arm and bounding over to the site of the unrest. Grumbling under her breath, she fought her way through the crowd in attempt to get a closer look at the mysterious earl whom she knew precious little about. "Can you see anything Bjorn?" she asked as she rose onto her tip-toes in an effort to see over the tall men that formed a blockade to her vision.

She turned to look at him, but he didn't seem to have heard her. His eyes were glued to something she could not see. Eagerly, she tugged impatiently at his sleeve, "What? What is it?"

Bjorn, however, seemed completely unaware of her as he quickly disappeared into the masses. "Bjorn!" she called, shoving through the crowd, trying to follow after him. "Bjorn! Where are-"

She stopped abruptly when she found herself standing before none other than her mother. "Móðir." she breathed. A smile spread across her face as she ran into her welcoming arms. Using all of her strength not to burst into tears of happiness, she laughed with delight.

Smiling, Lagertha kissed her daughter's forehead, cupping her cheeks as she studied her with a satisfied grin. "I have missed you too, my dóttir."

Observing the joyous reunion, Loki snickered malevolently. Coming to Ragnar's side, he placed his hand upon his shoulder eagerly. "Now we have our ally." he said with a smirk. "It would seem, to me, that Jarl Borg is of no further need to us."

* * *

Standing about the scaffold, Gyda awaited anxiously for Jarl Borg to be brought before them. Her mother stood beside her, her expression hard and emotionless as she observed the Jarl being escorted on to the platform. Removing his cloak, he met the unwavering gaze of her father, Earl Ragnar, who was clad in white robes, a carving knife held loosely in his hand.

Clenching his jaw, he beckoned for the Jarl to kneel before the crowd. Placing his hands upon the posts which he knelt between, Ragnar set to work as the crowd looked on silently as the gruesome, yet fascinating ceremony commenced.

Grasping her mother's hand, Gyda watched as her father carved into the Jarl's back, hacking away at his ribs and tearing through his flesh, all the while the Jarl bearing his punishment in complete and utter silence. Gyda couldn't be sure whether it was the heat from the fire or the intensity of the drums or the horrific sight before her, but she found it nearly impossible to take her eyes off of the carnage, no matter how horrendous. Beside her, her brother, Bjorn and uncle, Rollo seemed almost pleased. No matter how much she loathed the Jarl, for killing her people and betraying her father, she couldn't help but pity him.

Blood seeped from his lips as Ragnar pulled his lungs from his torso and gently laid them upon his shoulder, completing the ritual. The entire scaffold was stained with his blood which had decorated her father's once pure garments. His face was hard, yet satisfied as he looked down upon his enemy. Taking one last look at the Jarl, he descended the scaffold, leaving him to die, bathed in his own blood.

Fate had brought Jarl Borg to this odious end, but it also brought her mother back to her. As she watch him bleed to death upon the scaffold, she clung tightly to her mother. She had no knowledge of what would await her when time came to journey to England, but with her mother at her side, she felt strength to face whatever the unknown may have in store.

* * *

**First of all, I apologize for the long wait. I've been suffering from a horrible case of writer's block and seem to have let life get in the way of my finishing this chapter. In upcoming chapters, I shall be needing some input as I am still undecided some things concerning this story. Until then, happy reading and I hope this chapter suffices your long wait!**

**Lastly:**

**For the Vikings vs Saxons battle, taken from episode 9, season 2 "The Choice" (which will most likely be included in the next chapter) I have been debating whether to have Gyda replace Rollo when he is injured and taken into the Saxon's care, and thus is reunited with Athelstan in that way or to leave it as the TV show had scripted and have them meet another way. There are positives and negatives to me altering this, but I wanted your input.**


	9. Chapter 9: Fateful Reunions

**This chapter is dedicated in loving memory to Alexander "Alex" Edward Amaya (August 28, 1986-March 5, 2016) RIP, Primo *Cousin***

* * *

Rocking the small child tenderly in her arms, Gyda looked with pity upon her new half-brother, Ivar. She sighed ruefully, covering his small, deformed legs. Normally babies such as him were put to death, so that they wouldn't have to suffer through life, being uncapable of doing even the simpliest of tasks such as walking, but Aslaug wouldn't have it. She and Gyda's father had been on meager terms ever since. Kissing little Ivar on the forehead, Gyda gently placed him in his cradle and left the Hall in pursuit of the docks.

Fortunately, to everyone's relief, the time had finally come to return to Wessex. The ready fleet lay gallantly before her, the colors of Kattegat, Hedeby, and Denmark blending as one. Boarding one of the ships under her mother's flag, she was immediately engulfed into wholehearted embrace from her mother. "I have long awaited this day." she said with a sentimental smile. "Come." Her mother beckoned her to join the circle of warriors who passed along a water basin, a tradition before going on a raid.

After they had completed their ritual, Gyda and her mother made their way to the docks along with the other warriors, dispersing into the multitude of ships. Soon after, they were joined by Bjorn and Ragnar who greeted each of them in turn. Gyda noted her father's hard expression as he took a seat at the helm beside their mother as the ship began to drift away from the docks. Deciding against pressing for answers, she and Bjorn claimed a spot of their own a few feet away from their parents, distancing themselves from the pair's uncertain silence.

"Faðir has been visiting the Seer often as of late." Bjorn posed in a hushed tone. "I don't know what is in his mind. He says nothing of his talks with him nor does he show any signs of anxiety or closure after his visits. It is as if he isn't sure of what to make of the Seer's prophecies."

"Or he is uncertain of himself." Gyda suggested thoughtfully, glancing at their father, silently considering him. "Faðir isn't the type of man to act upon a whim, he prefers to have confirmation before he puts his plans into action...after observing it with my own eyes, I know this fact to be true."

Bjorn nodded, looking out at the open sea that now surrounded them. Pursing his lips, he skeptically scanned their surroundings for eavesdroppers, leaning in to her nonetheless, his voice lowered to a whisper. "Faðir doesn't trust King Horik." He declared. "After Jarl Borg's execution, I am certain of it."

"Nor do I." Gyda admitted. "Horik is sly and cunning and I don't trust him." She said, frankly. "I don't trust his word; I don't believe what he said about Athelstan. I know in my heart that he is alive." She declared, confidently. "If he was dead I would've felt it, and I wager Faðir believes the same."

From behind her, Torstein strode past them towards their father and mother. They watched her with great interest as he stood beside their father, cocking his head curiously when he noticed the smirk upon his lips. "What is the matter with you?" He inquired.

Ragnar grinned, shaking his head in disbelief. "It's something the Seer told me." He replied, continuing to eat his herring.

"What did the Seer tell you?" Lagertha questioned, her eyes still directed to the sea, not entirely engaging in the conversation.

"That Athelstan is alive."

Gyda jumped up from beside Bjorn and rushed towards the helm where they stood, not bothering to wait for her brother who slumbled clumsily around people and supplies as he attempted to keep up with her. "Athelstan?" Her heart beat so loudly in her chest that she was certain that it was audible to the world, her eyes wide with both eagerness and hope.

"But I thought he was dead..." Lagertha continued, her complete attention focused on Ragnar's words. Her brows knit together in confusion as she looked to him eagerally for answers.

Shrugging, Ragnar sighed knowingly. "That is what King Horik led me to believe." He said, clinching his jaw angrily, looking between his onlookers before resting his gaze on the ocean waves. "He also said that Athelstan betrayed him."

Gyda jumped when she felt Bjorn's hand touch her waist. She had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she had nearly forgotten his presence. _Athelstan alive_. Her heart practically leapt with joy. It had been far too long since she'd seen her old friend, and now, the gods willing, the long years of waiting would soon come to an end. Looking out at the horizon, these thoughts circulated in her mind. The wind whipped her hair around her face, the same wind that propelled them closer to the foreign land of England and urged her closer to him.

* * *

The hostility between Ragnar and King Horik had already proved to be poisonous to their campaign within the first few days following their arrival in Wessex, England. Evidently, there had been a disagreement in which Ragnar had sent Torstein as a courier to inform King Ecbert about his wishes to negotiate in hopes of gaining land for their people to farm and settle in the near future. However, he did not consult Horik nor Lagertha before making the executive decision on _all_ of their behalves which infuriated King Horik. In return, when King Ecbert sent his son, Aethelwulf, to accept Ragnar's purposal and invite them to speak with him at his royal villa, King Horik countered Ragnar's diplomacy by attacking envoy, sparing only Ecbert's son.

Currently, as the result of these recent events, they stood on a battlefield, their faces painted with war symbols, shields and axes in their hands and swords at their waists. Following close to her brother, Gyda took his hand, discretely giving him a comforting squeeze as they made an abrupt stop upon a hill in a large open field just on the outskirts of the forest that hid their camp. "This is the place." Her father declared, looking about them with certainty.

From her side, Prince Erlendur eyed him skeptically. "How do you know?"

Gyda observed as her father glanced at him briefly, a confident look in his eye. "Because I already knew." He replied, simply. Pausing for a moment he then pointed to thicket of trees and bushes across the field, and sure enough, there approached a regiment of King Ecbert's army.

"A large force." Declared King Horik, looking down upon them considerably. "But not large enough." He decided, waving his arm forward to signal them to continue marching. "We will go down to them." He said, starting down the hill determinedly, urging the rest of the warriors to follow him.

Ragnar, however, stayed put, biting his lip with uncertainty. "I think we should wait."

"I'm not waiting." Horik said, dismissing Ragnar's suggestion without a moment's hesitation. "The enemy is there." He stated, pointing at the Englishmen across the way forcibly. "We have the advantage of the hill. Forward!"

Not having much of a choice, Lagertha and Ragnar's forces hesitantly followed after Horik's. They hadn't walked very far when a regiment, previously unseen, began charging at them from the side, prompting them to form a large shield wall at the base of the hill. Horik, however, oblivious to the fact that they had just walked into a trap, urged them on. "Why are you stopping?" He called over the yelling and chaos. "The gods are with us! Forward!"

They charged along with the English and soon they were amongst each other, metal clanging against metal and tearing into stranger's flesh. Whipping out her sword from her sheath, Gyda swiftly slashed and thrusted her sword with deadly accuracy. Spinning about, she was able to defended herself at all sides, as the shield wall did not last long against the war horses that had charged them. Blood splattered her face and painted her a murderer, but she didn't care. Adrenaline pumped through her veins and she fell victim to a sort of frenzy. She knew not were her mother, father, uncle or brother were, but in the moment, it didn't concern her. All that mattered was her blade and her opponent.

Suddenly, the world seemed to slow nearly to an abrupt halt as yet another regiment appeared from behind the thicket. They were charged with heavy calvary, unable to properly defend themselves from it as they were still overwhelmed with infantry. Dodging a horse here and there, Gyda was able to escape being trampled, but was soon overwhelmed by footmen. Hopelessly outnumbered, she became aware of the reality of the situation and nervously scanned her surroundings for her family.

Rollo was soon at her side, the pair of them fighting fervently in defense of one another. At this point, it seemed that there was only to fight or die. All around them, their numbers dwindled, and yet more and more Englishmen seemed to appear from nowhere, reinforcing however many men they killed. No matter how quickly they disposed of their opponents or how furiously they fought, they couldn't seem to supress Ecbert's forces.

Another group of calvary men charged them, but Rollo was too distracted to notice. A rider rode in pursuit of him, his sword drawn and prepared to cut him down, but Gyda was quick to defend him. Placing herself between her uncle and the rider, she moved to deflect the rider's strike, but she wasn't quick enough. An intense pain surged through her body. Her eyes widened in shock as she clung to a gaping wound just below her breasts in her upper abdomen, her hands dampened with her own blood. The world seemed to spin, all sounds becoming very far away as she collapsed in the damp meadow grass. Above her, she could see her uncle struggling to come to her aid, disappearing from behind more and more Englishman as the darkness rapidly consumed her.

* * *

Athelstan wandered amoung the carnage, taking in the horror that man could inflict. Here and there his eyes would fall on a familiar face and his heart would ache with guilt and sorrow, even if he didn't know the person well. He had always been sensitive to death and destruction. He couldn't help but sympathize with those who have experienced loss, and now that he walked among death, his heart felt heavy with guilt and sorrow. Although he had nothing to do with the events that had occured, he couldn't help but feel responsible in some way.

All around him, the groans and yelps of dying men issued about him as men with spears walked about the battlefield in pursuit of survivors from the opposing side, stabbing them in the stomach in the event that they still clung to life. Athelstan cringed as he observed one of the spearmen plunge his weapon into the flesh of a northman. The viking grunted, stiffening for a moment before falling limp as the man roughly pulled his weapon from his gut.

Turning his head, Athelstan's eyes fell upon the body of a young woman, appearing to be no older than twenty years old. His eyebrows knitted together in thought, there was something that was strangely familiar to him about her, but he couldn't be certain. Subconsciously, he began walking towards her, just as a spearman stood over her, prepared to thrust the weapon into her already bleeding flesh. "No! Wait! Stop!" Athelstan yelled, running to the woman, shielding her body with his own.

His heart pounding loudly in his chest, he peered down at the young woman's face. She was a spitting image of Lagertha, but he knew in an instant that it wasn't she. She was both young and beautiful, depite the blood and grime that tarnished her gentle features. His hand shook as he gently brushed her wavy blonde hair from her face, his breath completely escaping him when he came to the realization that this woman by which he knelt was Gyda Ragnarsdottir.

"Athelstan, who is it? Do you know this girl?" King Ecbert had rode up beside him, peering curiously over his shoulder to get a better look at the person in question.

"She is Gyda, the daughter of Ragnar Lothbrok." Athelstan replied, his eyes unmoving from the girl's still form.

Ecbert nodded in acknowledgement. "She is the girl which was promised to you, is she not?" he inquired, earning a solemn nod from Athelstan. The king observed silent as Athelstan tenderly cupped her hands and cheeks, desperately searching for a pulse of some kind or any indication that she might still be alive. King Ecbert knew very well how valuble this girl could've been to him, had she still been living, and he silently cursed his luck for not being given the opportunity to use her as a barginning chip. Of course, she _could_ still prove useful. Perhaps if he were to promise her father her body... "It's unfortunate that she's dead." He said quickly, mostly in regards to himself and his own ambition.

Athelstan, on the other hand, didn't seem to accept this notion. Placing his fingers upon her lips he could barely feel warm, labored breaths meet his flesh, his eyes widened, wheeling around to face the King eagerly, his eyes hopeful and pleading. "No, she's still alive." He declared, placing his fingers upon her neck where he could find a very faint pulse. "She's fading fast. Please, Sire, spare her life." He begged of the king. "I will nurse her back to health myself, but please let her live. She shall be under my protection."

Ecbert paused, considering the notion for a moment, weighing his own benefits and losses before nodding. Gesturing for a monk, he ordered him to tend to Gyda, pointing him in the direction of where Athelstan knelt beside her. "Father, this is an important girl." He said, gesturing to Gyda's unconscious form. "See what you can do to save her."

"Yes, Sire." He said obediantly. Nodding urgently, the monk hurried over to Athelstan's side, making quick work of retrieving a cloth and beginning to dab her wound, pouring water and alcohol over the gash in attempts of cleansing it.

"She's badly wonded." Athelstan said, pointing to where the knight's sword had torn roughly through her flesh. "There."

* * *

After Gyda had been properly bandaged (the nuns had asked him to leave while they dressed her wound as they had to remove her armor to properly access it) Athelstan sat at her bedside for what had probably been several hours, patiently waiting for her to wake. He found himself mesmerized by her, her beauty and her strength. It had been over four years since he'd last laid eyes upon her...so much about her had changed, and yet she was still the same girl that he had grown so fond of.

Every day, Athelstan had made a point to visit her, even if it was merely to watch her sleep, in hopes that she would awake. On the morning of the third day, he had been sitting with her for about an hour when he noticed her fingers twitch slightly. He straightened eagerly when he noticed movement from beneath her eyelids, her lips parting slightly, as if to speak. Slowly, her eyelids fluttered open, her gaze focusing upon him, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "I seem to recall a situation very similar to this several years ago." He said, a smile forming on his lips. "Though, perhaps you may not remember me..."

"Athelstan?" She muttered, her voice hardly louder than a whisper. He nodded as she reached forward to touch him, her fingers tracing his jawline and trailing over the stubble that littered his cheeks in soft, feathery patterns. After she'd determined that he was real, her eyes began to wonder about her surroundings, the confusion and potential fear once again inhabiting her features. "Athelstan, where are we? What am I doing here?" Her hands fell, making contact with the large bandage that bound her chest and right shoulder. She looked frightened at first, but then she slowly began to recall the events leading up to her injury. "The battle..." She said. "I thought that Odin had taken me to Valhalla..."

"No," Athelstan reassured her, placing his hand atop hers in an effort to soothe her. "You are in the villa of King Ecbert of Wessex and are being well looked after." He explained. "The king has granted you mercy and allowed you to be placed under my protection throughout the duration of your recovery."

"I have missed you, Athelstan." She said, her eyes searching his longingly. "I never once believed any of the lies that King Horik had said about you. I was confident that you were not dead and all along I had known in my heart that I would see you again." Wincing, she managed to sit up in order to look at him properly. Cocking her head, she eyed him questioningly. "How did you know it was me? I'm not oblivious to the fact that I've changed much since you've last seen me, you could've easily mistaken me for any other shieldmaiden."

"You are not someone whom I could easily forget." He stated simply, his lips curling into a small, sentimental grin.

Gyda grinned as well. "Nor are you." Her eyes shifted to Athelstan's wrist. From beneath the brown fabric of his monk's habit she could distinctly make out the gold arm-ring of a free man. Curiously, she touched it. "You saw my Faðir." She stated, the last time she'd seen it being when they first arrived in Wessex when it was given to her father as a peace offering. "Does he know I am here? What did he say?"

"He agreed to meet with King Ecbert to negotiate." He said. "I informed both him and the rest of your family that you are alive and fairing as well as expected." Clearing his throat, Athelstan quickly averted his gaze, producing a lumpy bundle from his satchel. "King Ecbert has asked me to give you these when you had awoken." He said, placing the parcle upon her lap. "They are fresh clothes which he hopes that you shall graciously accept."

Hesitantly, Gyda unwrapped the parcel, revealing a plain linen dress that resembled the color of the sea, the sleeves being detachable and laced up the front, making it easier to attend to her wounds, if need be. Looking between the dress and Athelstan, she raised her eyebrows questioningly. "If you are well enough, King Ecbert has granted me permission to escort you around the grounds and he hopes, your health permitting, that you would join him at the head table for dinner."

Nodding her head consideringly, Gyda unfolded the dress. "In that case, I suppose I should ask you to leave so I can get dressed in..." She examined herself briefly, her eyes trailing over her trousers and tunic, both being drenched in blood. "Something less blood-stained." She concluded with a shy grin.

"Are you sure you feel well enough?"

Gyda giggled at Athelstan's apparent concern. "Athelstan, I am injured, not dead." She declared, already setting to work unlacing the front of the dress. When he made no motion to leave, she stopped, gazing at him with a serious expression. "I'll be fine." She assured him. "I shall only be a few minutes."

Nodding hesitantly, Athelstan stood, moving slowly towards the door.

* * *

"And this is the flower garden." Athelstan gestured briefly to a stone pathway that led into a maze of english wildflowers such as bluebells, poppies, roses, posies, and lavender along with an abundance of shrubbery and trees which weaved together to form a natural canopy, covering the pathway in a cool shade. "I often come here to clear my mind and escape from my torment."

His grip tightened around her waist as he assisted her past the garden and back to the village square. Gyda eyed him worriedly as they entered King Ecbert's villa. "What is ailing you, Athelstan?" she asked, cocking her head curiously. He shook his head, dismissing her concern, but Gyda was too stubborn and too intuitive to drop the subject. "Athelstan, please, let's sit for a moment."

Hesitantly, he conceded, leading her to a bench and helping her sit down before taking his seat beside her. Grasping his hand, she waited for him to meet her gaze before she spoke. "When I was a child, I grew to love you. You were a strange man with strange customs, but there was always something that I admired about you." She squeezed his hand sentimentally. "Years ago, we would tell each other everything, why can you not now? You can't hide your pain from me, I know you too well and it hurts me to see you in such a state. I wish that you would confide in me like you used to and perhaps, then, I could offer you some comfort."

Athelstan sighed deeply, eyeing his feet uncertainly. "What torments me is not of physical nature, but rather moral and spiritual." He admitted, pursing his lips in his frustration. "I struggle with what I know to be true and what I've witnessed with eyes and in my heart...in the gentle fall of rain from Heaven I hear my God, but in the thunder I still hear Thor. That is my agony."

Gyda bit her lip, not knowing exactly what to say. "I only know as much about your god as you've told me..." She began, struggling to find the right words to get her point across. "All my life I've been taught about the gods and giants and creatures which shape and form our world...I've never known anything different. Floki says that Christians are false and untrustworthy, but you...you convince me otherwise. In the world, there are differences: different countries, different languages, different customs, and different beliefs. I can't tell you what to feel or what to think, but I hope that no matter how life changes us that this, us, can stay the same."

Athelstan nodded, grasping her hands firmly, a smile returning to his lips. "Of course." For the first time in months, he felt relieved and at peace with himself. Something about Gyda's presence was comforting and secure, just as they had been when she was a girl, but different at the same time. He'd spent the day talking and laughing with her, reminicing about the past and who they used to be and at the same time familiarizing himself with the people they had become. She was beautiful both inside and out and he'd missed her company and though he'd kept it in every waking moment since they'd been reunited, he still doubted he'd ever have enough. "Thank you, Gyda." The warm feeling replinishing what little joy he had left, Athelstan smiled, offering her his hand as he stood. "Come, we shouldn't keep the royal court waiting."

* * *

Gyda had been to many feasts in the Great Hall back in Kattegat, but nothing of the sort could've prepared her for a feast at an English court. Presently, she was seated beside Athelstan at the head table, of the other occupants she could only name a few, thanks to Athelstan. The man seated at the center she knew to be King Ecbert, and to his left was his son, Aethelwulf, and beside him was his wife Judith, daughter of King Allele of Northumbria. She felt very out of place among the English chatter and utterly overwhelmed as she could hardly keep up with what they were saying. Moreover, she hardly felt comfortable eating as she could feel numerous pairs of eyes upon her with every subtle move she made.

"Gyda, is it?" King Ecbert had addressed her. Leaning over his son, his penetrating brown eyes examined her in such a thorough inquiry and potency that it made her shift in discomfort. She nodded shyly as the King grinned beneath his graying moustache. "I find your strength and endurance truly astonding. Not many men would be able to withstand such a injury, much less recover as gracefully and briskly as you have. Tell me, do women often permitted to fight along men in your culture?"

Gyda nodded, being able to understand the majority of what the King had said. "Yes." She replied with a thick Scandinavian accent. "My móðir, Lagertha, is a well known shieldmadien, herself." She explained. "In my culture, women and men, in many ways, are considered equals."

The King raised his eyebrows in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak once more, but another woman seated at his right interrupted him, her sharp gaze having been concentrated upon her since the moment she'd entered the room. "Is it true that it is socially acceptable for women to wear trousers, as if they were men? I've heard that the people of the north make love to whomever they chose, no matter if they are married or not. Is it not true?"

Pursing his lips, King Ecbert shifted awkwardly in his seat. "This is Princess Kwenthrith of Mercia." He said, gesturing to the woman who'd just addressed her.

Gyda glanced questioningly at Athelstan, uncertain how to answer the strange woman's question. Turning back to her expectant onlookers, she felt Athelstan's hand grasp hers beneath the table and offering her a comforting squeeze. "With all due respect, Princess, how is one to fight properly in a shield war wearing dress? I would think skirts would become quite a nuisance." She replied with as much confidence as she could muster. "In regards to our methods of love, I would say that our idea of marriage is quite similar to yours. A husband should be loyal to his wife and she to him, but love, to us, is something which we relish and savor, as any day could be our last. My people do not fear death and aspire to achieve a honorable, courageous death, so we tend to live everyday as if it were our last."

Raising his glass, King Ecbert grinned with approval. "Well said, my girl, well said." Taking a short drink in salute to her, the King cleared his throat, returning to his business-like stature. "Gyda, I've spoken recently with your father and we have come to the agreement that with your safe return, and a a generous payment, he and his men would return, in peace to your country. As a hostage exchange, I've placed my ally, King Allele, in you father's care. I am sure that my daughter-in-law will want her father to be returned as soon as possible and I am sure you are quite anxious to be with your family again as well...would it be agreeable with you if we were to deliver you to them tomorrow morning?"

Immediately, Gyda's heart lifted, but remembering Athelstan it sank nearly as quickly. Her eyes met his and she was instantly filled with sorrow. "I _do _miss my family." She admitted.

"So it's settled then." said the King, clapping his hands with approval, raising his glass jovially. "Tomorrow we shall have peace, but until then, let us drink to good fortune!"

* * *

The next morning, Gyda arose with a bittersweet tone. Just as he had every morning since she'd been brought to the villa, Athelstan had come to visit her, and after she was dressed the two of them took one last stroll through the flower garden before Gyda would be returned to her father. For a time, the pair walked in silence, merely enjoying one another's company. As she still couldn't completely walk on her own, Athelstan helped to support her weight by holding her around the waist, allowing her to lean into him as needed. Her hand rested gently upon his as he firmly, yet tenderly held her to him.

After a time, they took a seat upon a wooden bench beneath a large oak tree, trying their best to keep their emotions at bay. However, Gyda couldn't bear contain herself any longer. Plucking up the courage to speak up, she regarded him with an auspicious plead. "Come back with us, Athelstan." She said, gripping his hand firmly. "Please, come back to Kattegat. Faðir misses you, Bjorn misses you, Móðir misses you..._I _miss you."

"Gyda, I-"

"Athelstan, we're family." She insisted. The way she looked at him suggested that he had no hope in arguing with her.

Sighing, he shook his head. Unable to bring himself to meet her eyes, he stood sharply, offering her his hand. "Come, Gyda." He ordered. "They will be expecting us."

In an uncomfortable silence, they walked back to the village square where they were met by a small regiment of men and a horse which Athelstan assisted her on before climbing on himself. Hesitantly, she wrapped her arms around his waist as he urged the horse forward, leading the way to the Viking's encampment.

When they had arrived, a large amount of the warriors in the encampment had gathered around its boarders to watch the scene commence. Gyda's heart beat loudly in her chest as Athelstan assisted her down. He moved to walk her towards the camp, but Gyda stayed him for a moment. "Athelstan..." Her voice was barely above a whisper, her deep, blue eyes pleading with him desperately. "Please."

Pursing his lips, he urged her on, walking her a short distance before they were met by Bjorn who quickly thanked Athelstan for taking care of his sister before scooping Gyda in his arms and carrying her the rest of the way to the camp. Clinging to her brother, Gyda allowed her supressed tears to flow freely into his chest. She had waited so long to be reunited with Athelstan and now he'd once again disappeared from her life as quickly as he had reentered it.

* * *

Gyda looked bitterly out at the Wessex countryside as the last of their supplies and treasure was loaded onto the long boats. Despite all logic, she had held on to the hope the Athelstan might change his mind about coming with them back to Scandinavia with them, but now she was forced to accept the sorry truth that her hopes had been in vain.

Sighing sadly, she turned to board the ship herself when she heard the sound of horse's hooves in the distance. Against her better judgement, she wheeled around the scan the landscape one last time. Her heart leapt when she recognized the rider as Athelstan. He was no longer dressed in his monk habit, but had somehow managed to find an ordinary tunic, belt, trousers, and boots, his unruly hair tied back into a ponytail to keep from getting into his eyes.

Gyda's lips curved into a smile as he urged his horse to a stop before her, returning her smile. "You didn't honestly think that I was going to _stay _here, did you?" He said jokingly, swiftly dismounting and slapping the horse upon its rump so that it would return to King Ecbert's villa.

Not knowing what to say, Gyda wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into the firmest hug that she could manage in her weak state. "Somehow, I knew you would come." She declared. Pulling away from him, she took his hand and (as quickly as she could) lead him onto the longship. "Come, let us go home."

* * *

**A special thanks to **_**sassygirl9811**_**, first and foremost, thank you for your review, and as it turns out, your suggestion of Gyda taking Rollo's place turned out for the best. Thank you for helping me make my decision, I think it ultimately smoothed out the plot and allowed for more freedom on my part.**


	10. Chapter 10: Secrets of the Night

"King Horik is plotting against you, Faðir, you'd be daft not to see it." Sitting beside her father, Gyda grasped his hands firmly. "He means to rid himself of you and of all of us, and I'm certain that you know, as well as I, that he will not rest until we are _all_ dead."

"So what are we going to do?" Asked Floki, from beside her father. "Horik thinks that I killed Torstein, he trusts me. Ragnar, let me be the one to kill King Horik."

"No." He decided, his fingers running through his beard in thought. "Horik will bring a large force to overhrow me. He already has his family here, his warriors. If he were to be murdered, what would stop his son, Erlendur from then carrying out his faðir's plans?" He looked about his company, consisting of his daughter, Floki, Lagertha, Torstein, Athelstan, Bjorn supposed to have been present, but had run off to the gods knew where. When he received no answer, Ragnar nodded his head expectantly. "You see, I am right. We must rid ourselves of this threat in a delicate manner."

"Then what do you propose?" Floki pressed, tilting his head curiously.

Drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, Ragnar puckered his lips thoughtfully. "We don't have the power to face them directly, in battle." He said, realizing that if Horik was to be reinforced, they would be horribly outnumbered. "Since they consult secrets in the cover of night, I propose that we do the same."

"We may not be able to face them all at once, but what if we were to separate their forces?" Gyda suggested.

Nodding, considering her suggestion, Ragnar put his hand to his lips. "Yes, that should work." He said, patting her hand. "Gunnhild, the wife of King Horik, will be your task, Lagertha." He declared, Lagertha nodding in acceptance. "Athelstan and my son, since he is not here, will work to thin the incoming warriors before they can penetrate our hold. Floki, since Horik thinks you are on his side, you will make yourself scarce until the time is right, when you will meet Torstein and I here, where we will be waiting Horik's arrival." He glanced at them all in turn. "We will all meet here, when each of our tasks are complete."

"That is all well and good, Ragnar, but what of the King's young son, Erlendur?" Torstein reminded him. "We cannot underestimate him, he could potentially be a fatal mistake to our plans. Who among us will distract him?"

"I will." Gyda offered, before she had even allowed herself to think it through. Swallowing nervously, she continued with her reasoning. "He is partial to me, and underestimates me because I am a woman." She explained. "I am certain that I can distract him from his work."

Reluctantly, her father accepted her offer with a slight nod of his head. "Very well. Floki, when is King Horik planning his siege?"

Giggling menacingly, Floki gesticulated wildly. "Night fall."

* * *

Her heart beating hard in her chest, Gyda wrapped her shall closer to her body as she walked through the empty streets of Kattegat. The night had grown cold and each breath she took swirled through the nighttime air in delicate patterns. When at last she arrived at her destination, she hesitated for a moment before knocking firmly upon the wooden door.

She had waited just a moment before the door opened, revealing her enemy behind it, Erlendur Horikson. He smirked when he saw that it was she that stood outside his door, leaning on the door frame, inspecting her with a smug smile upon his lips. "If it isn't Gyda Ragnarsdottir." He said with a disbelieving shake of his head. "To tell you the truth, when you had agreed to meet me, I doubted that you would actually come."

Shrugging, she shifted her weight uncomfortably. "I am a woman of my word." She declared. "Well, are you going to just stand there, or will you let me inside?"

Moving aside, Erlendur allowed her to enter, his eyes following her as she moved across the room, taking a seat beside the central hearth, the light illuminating her gentle features as she removed her covering from her head, meeting his gaze with equal intensity. She observed silently as Erlendur sat across from her, his hard features completely intent upon her. "This place has been abandoned for years. We shouldn't be disturbed." She said. "Does your faðir know that you are here?" She asked, not knowing what else to say.

Erlendur shook his head, coming to his feet, he slowly approached her. "He thinks that I am doing his bidding." He replied, making her flinch as he took a lock of her hair in his hands and twirled it about his fingers. "But, as I have come to understand, there is a time for duty as well as a time to love." Gyda stiffened as his fingers traced over her cheek amorously. "Long have I desired and wanted you. I'm certain that you know this."

Coming to her feet, Gyda grasped him by the shoulders, pressing him against the wall. Pressing her cheek against his, she whispered into his ear. "Is it not one's duty to love?" She asked, her lips brushing against his skin, raising her skirt, hoping to seduce him. "Tell me your you secrets and desires, Prince Erlendur, and I shall surrender mine."

Grabbing her roughly around the waist, Erlendur began trailing kisses along her neck, his hands running up and down her back before tugging at her laces that held her clothing to her body. Pulling them loose, he prepared to desecrate her body, but before he could touch her in any such way, Gyda produced a knife which she had hidden in her bodice. Pressing it to his throat, she forced him away from her.

Her chin stiffening, she gazed at him with an intense abhorrence. "Did you honestly think that I come to you for your personal pleasure, like a whore?" Tightening her grip on him, she pressed the blade deeper into his skin. "You've severely underestimated me, son of Horik, and tonight you and your people will pay the price for your _fatal_ error. The warriors of Kattegat have awoken, you see, and vengeance shall be ours."

* * *

Pressing the dagger hard into his back, Gyda shoved Erlendur roughly into the Great Hall. Her father and the others were already waiting there, the lifeless bodies of Horik's guards littering the floor. King Horik glanced at them briefly as they entered the room, moving into the far corner to observe from a generous distance.

Glancing back to the front of the room, the King pursed his lips, meeting Floki's gleeful glance with that of defeat and betrayal. "Floki, you have betrayed the gods." He said, his grip tightening on his shield as he glanced uncertainly at Torstein.

"No, King Horik, I only betrayed you." Floki countered, raising his ax, smirking pleasantly as he ran his finger over its blade. "I was always true to the gods...and Ragnar." At that moment, her father appeared behind him, staring at King Horik mercilessly, most likely planning exactly how he wished to kill him within his mind.

Horik clenched his jaw, casting his shield aside in acceptance of his defeat. "Ragnar, if you can find it in your heart, spare my son." He begged of him. Advancing upon his fate, he was struck first in the chest by Lagertha, and again, in the back by Bjorn. The King grunted with each stroke, his blood seeping onto the floor as Torstein also took his turn, plunging his ax into his flesh. When at last he met Rangar, he was too weak even to stand. Looking up at him, he met with his gaze, his death.

* * *

Erlendur trudged through the streets of Kattegat, his hand resting upon the hilt of his sword. Without any regard for the master of the Great Hall, he barged into the room, forcing the way to the front of the room so he could properly confront the man who murdered his father. Ragnar's eyes widened at the sight of him, but he made no indication of fear. Without a word, he gestured for the former prince to speak his peace.

The young man's eyes scanned the room until they rested upon his enemy's daughter. She stood behind her father's throne, her lips pursed and eyes accusing as she watched him from afar. Behind her, stood her brother, regarding him with a similar distaste, his hand resting protectively upon her shoulder, and the priest, Athelstan, whom he'd grown to loathe, who discretely held her by the waist.

"Ragnar," He began, his gaze hard and determined. "You have taken away from me, my faðir, móðir, my bróðirs, and my birthright." He said. "I've come to ask you for something in return for what you have taken from me, as I believe it is only fair."

Ragnar placed his fingers upon his lips, leaning forward, trying his best to anticipate what it is that he might request, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't. "What is it that you want?"

"I want," He said, a sly grin crossing his lips. "Your beautiful dóttir."

* * *

Gyda could scarcely breathe, she was so nervous. Her skin had been scrubbed the the point of rawness, her hair brushed through thoroughly and her long, blonde hair weaved into dozens of braids, some flowing freely, hiding amongst her loose tresses whilst others contorted to crown her head, upon which an extravagant flower garland weaved with wildflowers, and even more of the kind weaved into her braids. She was dressed in her mother's wedding tunic. It was a simple, white shroud with delicate embroidered details, but it was soft and formed to Gyda's body elegantly. Her cheeks had been pinched more than she cared remember, to give her a sort of 'pre-wedding glow', but she didn't feeling like a blushing bride, instead she felt more green with anxiety.

As her raft neared the alter where she would meet her new husband, her heart began to race with anticipation. Though it was dark, in the faint light of the torches, she could make out the faces of some of the spectators. Among them, her brother, Bjorn, her father, her mother, her uncle, Rollo, Princess Aslaug, Floki and Helga, Torstein, and Siggy. Taking a deep breath, she graciously accepted her father's hand as he led her to the alter where Athelstan awaited.

He, too, was dressed in a white tunic, his hair and beard nicely groomed for the occasion. In his hand he held a sword, which her father had loaned him to use for the ceremony. He cleared his throat several times, most likely from his own anxiety, but his eyes stared unmovingly at her.

He smiled at her shyly as she stood beside him, hardly able to look her in the eye. She didn't blame him, she knew well enough that this was an awkward situation for both of them. Even so, she was grateful that it was he and not Erlendur whom she joined hands with. He was a kind man, whom she loved dearly, but she couldn't help but feel guilty that he should have to do this. She knew he'd agreed to marry her to ensure her safety and well-being, but was this what he truly wanted? He was devoted to his christian god, surely some part of him was bothered by this. Whether her concerns be valid or not, he gently took her hands, offering her an encouraging squeeze as they exchanged their vows, binding them as husband and wife.

* * *

***PG13***

**Just as a warning, I feel that it is necessary to forewarn you readers that this chapter does contain some sexual situations and sensitive topics. Although this chapter's content isn't above a T rating, I just think I should mention this out of courtesy and respect for you all. Read at your own discretion.**

* * *

As she stood anxiously awaiting him, alone, in the large bedroom where she'd been escorted to following the wedding feast, Gyda grew increasingly apprehensive. She was dressed in naught but her shift, as was custom. Her mother and Siggy had let her hair free from the little braids which were weaved to crown her head and relieved of the wild flowers which had also been weaved into her golden tresses and placed on them the table beside the water basin so the fill the room with the fresh scent of spring. All the while, the two women offered her advice based upon their wedding nights, but Gyda knew neither recount would be adequate to her own experience. Athelstan wasn't like her father nor Jarl Haraldson; he was different in many ways and she loved him for that. In truth, she loved him more than she'd dare admit, but in the back of her mind settled doubt as to whether he could ever love her in the same way.

She'd been so deep in thought that when the door finally did open, she flinched out of surprise. Suddenly, she found herself feeling quite self-conscious as she felt his blue eyes roam briefly over her body before meeting her gaze. Successfully, she managed in avoiding a blush, nevertheless, taking the precautions of crossing her arms over her chest in order to appear slightly less vulnerable before him.

Overwhelmed by her nervousness, she found herself struggling to form words. She bit her lip, trying to push aside her apprehension and not focus on her current predicament. She'd hardly begun parting her lips to speak when she felt the warmth of his breath on her forehead, his hands reluctantly grasping her shoulders before gliding down the length of her arms with his feathery touch to her elbows. Her discomfort getting the better of her, she felt her body tense, her breath hitching in response to her being unaccustomed to the closeness. She was quite certain that he could hear how fast her heart was beating as she could physically feel its rhythmic thumps against her breast.

She couldn't be certain if he was as nervous as she, for he showed no symptom of anxiety, however, his reluctance to merely touch her revealed a different sort of discomfort. Suddenly, her nerves were replaced by guilt. She knew of his oath of celibacy and deeply resented herself for putting him in this situation. His warm, heavy breath tickled her neck as he contemplated whether he should dare kiss her soft, chaste skin.

"I'm sorry." She said softly, leaning away from him before he could touch her. "I know you don't want to anger your god and likewise, I don't want to be the reason that you suffer internally." She declared, daring to meet his gaze. "Nobody need know. I...I will claim that I am unfruitful as a result of the fever I had as a child, so there will be no speculation as to why I haven't borne a child and you can remain in your god's good graces; all I ask is that you spare me of a broken heart, if you cannot love me as your wife, then love me as your friend and don't allow there to be any delusions."

"Gyda...I-"

"Please." She begged him, recoiling from his advances. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be..."

Athelstan sighed. Taking a seat upon the edge of the bed, he beckoned her to join him. Reluctantly, Gyda obeyed, placing herself at a comfortable distance from him, perched resolutely before him, looking at him expectantly, patiently waiting for him to speak.

"You once told me that we come from different worlds," He began, "We've different gods, different customs, different languages, but that doesn't matter to me. In my old life, in England, I made a vow to God that I would devote myself to Him and abstain from intimacy, but then I had never thought it possible that I would care about a woman like I care about you. Priesthood is holy to my God, but so is the love between a man and his wife." He laid his hand upon hers as an act of reassurance. "You are my wife." He declared. "And I intend on loving you with every bit of my being."

Before she could restrain herself, she practically leaped into his arms, her emotions completely taking charge. Although she knew that Athelstan wasn't opposed to her sudden boldness, her timidness began to return to her as she felt his strong arms wrap around her waist, the reality of the situation resurfacing in her mind. Hesitantly, she leaned back slightly so she could properly study him, whilst still encompassed in his embrace.

Likewise, Athelstan studied his bride, his hand absentmindedly running up and down her spine. A soft blush rose to her cheeks as he brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his hand resting upon her shoulder. "I was so scared..." She began, her voice cracking slightly as she was surprised at her own sincerity. "I was so frightened that I was a burden... that all I'd be able to give you is pain, when I so badly want to make you happy."

"You _do_ make me happy." He insisted, cupping her cheek in his hand. His thumb lightly brushed over her shapely, pink lips. He eyed them thoughtfully. What would it be like to kiss those lips? However, for a man of twenty-six, he was horribly inexperienced in the field of physical love. He was twenty before he'd had his first kiss and even then he'd no way of knowing whether the sensation was equally pleasant to Thyri as it was to him. Still, he couldn't help but wonder. "Have you been kissed before, wife?"

Beneath his fingers, her lips curved into a giddy smile as she shook her head. "No, husband, I've not."

His lips curled into a small smile in response to her reply. He liked the sound of his new title, "Husband", though he was more pleased with the knowledge that he would be the first and only man to kiss Gyda. He returned his hand to the small of her waist, gently pulling her closer to him. "May I be so bold as to ask you for the honor?" He asked, playfully.

She nodded, grinning in amusement. Keeping one hand firmly around her waist, his other held her cheek, gently guiding her lips to his. As they met, he softly pecked her pink lips, not wanting to force her into anything that she wasn't ready for.

She seemed uncertain of her feelings once they'd parted. Her eyebrows were knitted together and her eyes cast downward as if she were deep in thought, carefully considering the new sensation he'd introduced her to. A few moments of silence past between them before she met his gaze. "Again?" She asked hopefully, trying her best not to sound too eager.

Athelstan readily obliged, attempting to keep his composure as well. This time, she craved more passion which he promptly provided, lifting her into his lap whilst training her lips to move with his. She was a fast learner, as he had quickly discovered and seemingly growing more and more confident the longer they kissed. Finally, as they broke apart due to lack of air, Gyda rested her head on Athelstan's shoulder, smiling into the crest of his neck. Selfishly, Athelstan wanted to make love to his wife that moment, forgoing all of his prior beliefs and affirmations, but his chivalrous nature compelled him to restrain himself in respect for Gyda.

Covetously, his hands grazed the hem of her shift, softly tracing the boarder of fabric and skin. She sighed softly as his hands ventured to her shoulders, where he dared to guide the thin linen from her body, leaving them perfectly exposed and begging for his touch. When she did not object to his advances, he proceeded to plant kisses trailing from her neck to her collar bone. Gyda, in response, began tugging at his shirt, pleading him to rid himself of it.

Upon realizing her intent, he stopped, sky blue eyes meeting ocean. "Are you sure?" He asked momentously.

She nodded. Her want and need for him was irrefutable. The overwhelming sense of love filled her with confidence and anticipation. "I've never been so sure if anything." She replied, tracing her fingers down to his chest where they lingered over the strings of his tunic. She smiled at him mischievously as she slowly began unlacing his tunic, running her hands over his exposed skin. She paused, her eyes meeting his. "What about you? Are you sure about this?"

The longer Athelstan took to respond, the more insecure Gyda began to feel. She discontentedly began to withdraw herself when he took her by surprise. Taking her cheeks into his hands, he kissed her firmly and passionately, pulling her on to his lap. When they broke apart, both smiling out of sheer satisfaction, he caressing her cheek lovingly. "If ever you feel uncomfortable, just tell me to stop."

Gyda nodded, a smile coming to her face. Uncertainly, she reached again for his tunic, which he quickly assisted her with. Her eyes roamed over him, taking all of him in. Reluctantly, she touched him, tracing every muscle and every line etched in his chest. Likewise, Athelstan played with the hem of her shift, teasing her as he slowly inched it up her legs. Decisively, Gyda pressed her lips to his, kissing him with all the passion she could muster. In return, Athelstan gently laid her down upon the mattress, wasting no time in deepening his kisses, his hands free to wonder about her. His heart raced as their bodies molded together, placed perfectly in each other's arms, their breath quickened and small sounds of approval escaped their lips as they divulged their love for one another.

* * *

Gyda smiled contently as she listened to Athelstan's heart beat. They lay, wrapped in each other's embrace, warmed by one another's body, hardly acknowledging the sheets at all. Athelstan absentmindly ran his fingers up and down her spine, enjoying the feeling of her skin. Gyda smiled as she felt Athelstan kiss her forehead, his beard and moustache tickling her as his gentle lips touched her skin.

Contently, she sighed. "Now, I am quite married."

Athelstan chuckled. "Never in my life would I have expected to find myself in such circumstances." He admitted. "Since I was sixteen, I had devoted myself to God, dedicating my life to priesthood...but yet here I am, having made love with the woman I've taken as my wife; the daughter of the man who once was my enemy and is now my friend and, yet, I've never felt happier."

Gyda lifted herself off of him, smiling down a him as she hovered over him and kissed him softly. "Nor have I." She replied, laying down beside him, turned on her side so she could see him properly. "Ever since I was a little girl, I had always sworn that when the time came that I should marry, I would marry for love...and, I think I have."

Smiling, Athelstan, pulled his wife back to him, wrapping his arms around her and engulfing her small frame into his. "As do I."

"As a child, I was always fearful of marriage." She admitted, resting her head upon his chest. "I knew Faðir would do his best to find a good husband for me, but when Móðir married Earl Sigvard, he..." She trailed off, suddenly regretting mentioning the name.

"What?" Athelstan pressed, eyeing her curiously. She clung to him tighter and shook her head, obviously oppossed to recollecting the memory. Still, her discomfort worried him. He'd nearly let off the subject when he felt little drops of tears hitting his skin. There was more to this than just unpleasent memories. Something that man had done to her had seriously harmed her, and he felt compelled to know. "Did he harm you?" He asked, fearing what her answer would be.

Reluctantly, she nodded, hugging him tighter. A lingering silence formed between them as she mustered up the courage to form words. "I-If I tell you what he did to me, w-will you promise me that you will still love me? Will you promise me th-that you won't look at me differently?" She uttered weakly.

"Of course."

Gyda sighed. She sat up slowly, wrapping the blanket that they'd cast aside moments before around herself to hide her nakedness. Nervously, she eyed the ground. Taking a deep breath, she began her confession. "Sigvard was a deviant man, though he didn't show it before Móðir had agreed to marry him. He treated us well, offered us a good home and protection, which we were in desperate need of, so she decided to accept him." Gyda paused, shifting uncomfortably as she recounted her childhood memories. "Within the first year, Bjorn had grown to hate him. Our stepfather never much liked him because the older he grew, the more Bjorn reminded him of Faðir, whom he despised. He began mistreating Móðir, beating her and treating her inappropriately...however, it wasn't until I was around fourteen that he turned his attentions to me.

"He would come in the night, once Móðir had gone to sleep. The first few times, I cried the entire time, wishing it for it to end. Even when he left, tears would continue to come in place of sleep. For years, I had been afraid of being alone...of closing my eyes and falling into a dream, when I knew I'd be awoken in a nightmare. Nobody knew, for the longest time, but then once, Sigvard had caught me alone, and although it was midday, he didn't care. He was just about to take me when Bjorn arrived and managed to stopped him. I was afraid that he would kill him...I was frightened that Bjorn would be dead because of me. Luckily, Bjorn was too furious to fight him, instead he took me away and tended to me...he demanded, over and over again...'how many times...how many times'..." At this point, silent tears stained her cheeks. "When I fight," She said, her voice shaking in both fury and hurt, "It is him that I see beneath my axe, his blood that stains my blade." She shook her head solemnly. "I'm sorry." She said. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you...a woman's first time should be with her husband and he stole that from me and he stole that from you and I'm sorry..."

Athelstan shook his head quickly, taking her in his arms and allowing her to cry quietly on his shoulder as he gently rocked her, trying his best to console her. "No," He said. "I am sorry."

Unable to contain herself, she sobbed helplessly onto his bear chest, clinging to him desperately as she recalled the horrors of her childhood. "Every night, after I was certain he...he'd re-returned to h-his chamber, I'd go out into the...the docks...to the water t-to..."

"Shh." He cooed, rubbing his hand in wide circles over her bare back in attempts of soothing her. "I know."

Leaning back, she found the courage to meet his eyes. Her own were red and puffy from crying, but Athelstan didn't care, as far as he was concerned, she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever beheld. She squeezed his hand to express her gratitude, offering him a weak smile. "I'm grateful to the gods...that there was never a child." Gently, her fingers traced his jawline as she cocked her head, studying him with a loving gaze. "And that they brought you back to me."

Athelstan smiled, trapping her hand in his. Bringing it to his lips, he gently pressed his lips to her palm, bringing a smile to her face. "I think it was fate." Athelstan confessed. "In my faith, we believe that there is a purpose for everything, something that each of us are born to accomplish...like a mission. Before, I thought mine was to devote myself to God, spreading his word and forsaking customary pleasures, but now I can see that my purpose is very different."

Gyda sighed, laying peacefully down upon the mattress, pulling her husband down next to her. "You told me about your life in the monastery many times, but you've never mentioned your life before then." She stated, eyeing him curiously. "I've just always wondered..."

Athelstan smiled, chuckling at her good-naturedly. "Well, I grew up on a small farm in the kingdom of Northumbria, much like the one you and your family lived on when I first arrived here. My father was a hard working man, as was my mother. I had a brother and three sisters, one of which died of a fever when I was but seven years old."

Gyda touched his arm sympathetically. "What were their names?" She inquired, glad to have a new topic.

"Edmund was the oldest," He said, smiling slightly at the mention of his siblings, "then there was Addyson and Aldys and then me. Little Skyrah was the youngest. All of my siblings and I loved each other dearly, I have many fond memories growing up...it wasn't until Skyrah was five that she began to fall very ill. Her death was very hard on my family, for a long time my parents didn't speak to each other." He sighed sadly. "I suppose they blamed each other for her death."

Gyda nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. "What about your other siblings?" She asked.

Athelstan shrugged. "Edmund married when I was around thirteen. He and his wife lived with us, as they would inherit the farm when my father died. Aldys married a man she met in town...a blacksmith, if I recall correctly, when we traveled to market to sell our crops when I was nearing sixteen...Addyson had just begun receiving suitors when I left to live in the monastery."

"Have you seen them since you left?"

Athelstan shook his head. "Not in nine years."

Gyda lowered her eyes disappointedly. "D'you suppose they'd like me?" She asked curiously.

Athelstan smiled at her encouragingly, pulling her close to him, kissing her head happily. "I'm certain of it." He replied with confidence. "I could just see Mother now, 'O, have you ever beheld such a beautiful girl!'" Playfully, he pretended to inspect her, running his hands over her body, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he rested his hands on her hips. Finally, he nodded in approval. "' I say, if ever there was a lass fit for my son, 'twould be she!'" He mimicked in a high pitched voice that perfectly resembled a doting English housewife, making Gyda giggle. Grinning, Athelstan continued with his impression. "'By jove, wait until I relay the news to that imprudent Mrs. Wythe! Ha! The look she shall have when she beholds my new daughter-in-law! Such a finely built lass, excellent birthing hips, just wait until the grandchildren come!'"

Gyda blushed at that prospect, which did not go unnoticed by Athelstan. He stopped suddenly, his smile fading as he eyed her with concern. "Is something wrong, wife?"

She shook her head reluctantly. "No," She replied, uncertainly. "I-I just hadn't put much thought...that is, I wasn't certain how _you _would entertain the notion..." Over coming her initial shock, she situated herself on top of him, leaning down on him enticingly, her lips brushing against his cheek as she spoke, the warmth of her breath sending amorous tingles down his spine. "But I do hope that you'd welcome it, because as of now, it's your own fault if you should find yourself a father."

Athelstan sighed happily, running his fingers over her body, tracing her curves, confidence overcoming him, knowing that she was his. "I would consider it an honor and a blessing to be a father, so long as you were the child's mother." He replied.

Smiling, she kissed him softly. Sighing pleasantly, she rested her head upon his chest, wrapping her arms around him. "Then rest well, husband," She said. "For I firmly intend on bearing my husband many sons."

Athelstan chuckled, holding her tightly against him. "Very well, wife." He replied. "But know that I'm not opposed to daughters, either. Daughters who would undoubtedly have their mother's beauty."

Gyda smiled, looking up at him lovingly. "I love you." She stated, never having been more certain of anything. It felt natural, rolling off of her tongue, as if it was a statment which she'd always known, but had only just allowed herself to admit.

Her lips curved into a smile as he carassed her cheeks affectionately. Tilting her chin up, he bent down and met her lips, transfering all of his love and passion in the gesture. "And I love you."

Sighing pleasantly, she sat up just long enough to blow out the candle beside their bed before she returned herself to his arms, nestling in to his body as she returned her head to his chest. Smiling contently, Athelstan tightened his embrace around her, wishing her to be as close to him as humanly possible. In the comfort and safety of each other's embrace, sleep over took them.

* * *

**And end, Season 2**

**I included the bit about Athelstan's past because in the TV series, we knew close to nothing about the person he was before he was taken to Scandinavia. Of course, my recount is completely from my own imagination, but what is evidence is there to prove me wrong? I just thought it would be a good addition to the story, to give more of a personal connection with the characters. I hope that you will agree.**


	11. Chapter 11: New Land and Life

"I had meant to give this to you before, when I had thought you'd be returning with King Horik." Producing the pure white coin-shaped shell (as she had preserved it) from her pocket, Gyda gently placed it into the palm of Athelstan's hand. "I found it in the sea, and something about it reminded me of you."

Smiling, Athelstan flipped over the shell, shaking his head in amazement. "We have these where I am from." He said. "As a boy, my brother and sisters and I would collect shells such as this along the shore."

Leaning in closer to him, Gyda closely examined the coin which he held. "What is it called?" She asked, gazing at it in amazement.

"It is called a sand dollar." Athelstan explained, grinning at his wife's child-like curiousity. "When I was a child, my mother used to tell me a story about this little creature...would you like to hear it? It is about the Christian God and religion...sometimes I think it was part of why I wanted to become a monk, because I was amazed with the wonders of the world."

Eagerly, Gyda nodded, her eyes wide with interest. Clearing his throat thoroughly, Athelstan held the sand dollar up so she could see it properly before reciting the poem that he knew so well. "The legend of the Sand dollar, That I would like to tell, Of the birth and death of Jesus Christ, Found in this lowly shell. If you will examine closely, You'll see that you find here, Four nail holes and a fifth one, Made by a Roman's spear." He quoted, pointing to each of the holes to emphasize his point. "On one side the Easter Lily, It's center is the star, That appeared unto the shepherds, And led them from afar. The Christmas Poinsettia, Etched on the other side, Reminds us of His birthday, Our joyous Christmas tide. Now break the center open," he paused, carefully cracking open the sand dollar, pouring out five little white shells in the shape of a birds in flight. "And here you will release, The five white doves awaiting, To spread good will and peace. This simple little symbol, Christ left for you and me. To help to spread His Message, Through all eternity."

Graciously accepting the little doves, Gyda examined them, fascinated by their delicate yet mystifying significance. "It is a wonder that such a little thing could behold such symbolism." She asked. "Nature is strange and fascinating, is it not, Athelstan?" Sighing pleasantly to herself she laid her head upon his shoulder, leaning into him as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "I cannot wait to return to your home, to England."

Stiffening abruptly at her words, Athelstan eyed her questioningly. "What do you mean? Surely you know that going to England could potentially be dangerous. For all we know, you could be with child already. You've been experiencing symptoms, remember? What if you got hurt? Sea travel, alone, could be dangerous."

"Porrun is going, and it is very possible that she could be with child." Gyda stated simply, nodding to her brother's lover who, presently, was helping the men to load the long ships at the docks in preparation for their journey. Placing her hand upon her husband's, she gently rubbed her thumb over his knuckles, comfortingly. "Child or nor, I refuse to be left behind. It is my place to stand along side my family. We cannot live our lives in fear of things that may never be."

"But what if something should happen?" Athelstan posed. "I would never be able to forgive myself if you fell into harms way and I couldn't protect you. I feel that it is my responsibility, both as a friend and a husband, to ensure your safety."

"You needn't worry about me." She insisted, scooting off of the edge of the dock where they had been sitting and landing softly upon the sand, offering Athelstan her hand which he promptly accepted as they began to stroll through the village, arm in arm. "You know as well as I, that I can protect myself, besides, the main reason for our voyage is to claim and establish the settlement that King Egbert has promised us. If I am, indeed, pregnant, as I very well may be, it will not matter, we don't intend to raid, and if some sort of skirmish occurs, I will do my best to stay out of it. Is that compromise enough, husband?"

After a moment's hesitation, Athelstan eventually nodded. "Very well." Grinning to himself, he took her by the waist, pressing her against the puter wall of their humble home, nestled at the outskirts of the village. It was a small, yet sturdy dwelling, make of wood, built into the side of a hill that morphed into the fjord, the grass that grew upon the hill serving as a roof*. Tracing his fingers over her cheeks, he shook his head. "I was a fool to think I could change your mind. You're too stubborn."

"Is that such a bad thing?" She whispered, slowly unlatching the door and guiding him inside. Closing the door behind them, Athelstan watched her curiously as she began to untangle her hair from the braids that crowned her head. "I'm told that we leave tomorrow," she said, glancing at him suggestively before beginning to unlace the front strings of her dress. "I'm not sure when we'll have time _alone _while we're away...especially if we are expecting..."

Picking up on her hint, Athelstan once again weaved his arms around her waist, pulling her in to him, kissing her eagerly and passionately. "Then we might as well take advantage of them time we have, shall we?" He suggested with a smirk.

Giggling, Gyda wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips against his as he gently guided her backward and around the central hearth, laying her down softly upon the straw mattress. Carefully guiding her dress over her head, Athelstan paused when his eyes fell upon a thin scar whose tender flesh stretched across the top of her waist, just below her breasts. Tenderly, he ran his fingers over the fragile skin, but she soon caught his hand, meeting his eyes seriously. "Athelstan, I am fine." She assured him. "Scars are merely reminders of battles that we have overcome." Taking his hand, she opened his palm and affectionately ran her fingers over his own scars from the torture he'd once endured. "You, of all people, should know that."

Nodding, he allowed her to kiss him once more, giving in to her gentle caresses and loving embrace, distracting him from all of the burdens and worries that massed about in his mind and weighed upon his heart. In that moment, nothing else mattered but she and him. Lying there, engrossed within one another's embrace, everything in the world, for a time, seemed right.

* * *

The cold wind whipped her hair about her face as Gyda struggled with a weak grasp to hold it back as she vomited over the side of the ship. Coming up from behind her, her mother assisted her in holding back her hair and she once again heaved, spewing the last of the food in her stomach overboard. Crumpling to a heap, Gyda wiped her mouth weakly as Lagertha offered her water to wash out her mouth with, which she gratefully accepted with a shaky grasp.

"We ought to be arriving at Wessex soon." She told her, gazing at her with concern as she leaned her head against the hull of the boat. "Are you sure that it was a good idea to come along with us, in your..._condition_?" She asked. Gyda opened her mouth to protest, but her mother shook her head. "Don't give me excuses, you've been like this for weeks, and all your life, you've _never _gotten seasick. What other explanation is there?"

Sighing in defeat, Gyda hung her head, grasping her throbbing temple between her hands. "I know." She groaned.

"So why have you ignored the signs?" Lagertha pressed. "This is wonderful news! You ought to be beaming with pride, so why is it that you seem unhappy, dóttir?" Her face fell, eyeing her daughter questioningly. "Have you told your husband of your joy?"

Shaking her head, Gyda reluctantly met her mother's gaze. "No." Biting her lip, she looked away, shameful of her decision. "I-I thought that if he knew, that he would refuse to let me come." She explained. "He was hesitant enough, as it is."

Her mother nodded in understanding. "Why were you so adament about coming to Wessex?" She asked. "Athelstan wouldn't have made you stay behind out of spite. He cares about you, as well all do, and he would want you to be safe and well taken care of. Would it be so bad to spend the duration of your pregnancy in Kattegat?"

"I suppose not." Gyda admitted, reluctantly with a passive shrug. "But I belong here." She insisted. "Athelstan knows this, and we made an agreement that child or not, I would come to Wessex. You and faðir dreamed of settling in new places and learning new things, and I've come to share that dream. I refuse to be left behind whilst others find what I, too, seek." Putting a hand upon her abdomen, which had yet to reveal her condition, with the exception of a little bump in the lower region, which was near unnoticable to the untrained eye, she sighed softly. "I will tell him soon," she promised. "When the time is right."

* * *

"Welcome! I bid you all, welcome!" Exclaimed the man who Gyda quickly recognized as King Ecbert. She watched him with an uncertain gaze as she dismounted her horse, making her way to where her parents stood, finding a place for herself between her brother and her husband. Approaching her father with a sideways grin upon his lips, the King graciously bowed his head to him. "Earl Ragnar."

"He is King now." Athelstan corrected, from her left. Since she and Athelstan had been reunited, he had taught her much more of his language, and she was quite capable of understanding each word of the exchange that took place before her, much to her delight. "King Ragnar Lothbrok."

Turning his attention back to her father, King Ecbert's face fell. "What happened to King Horik?" He asked confusedly.

Biting his lip dubiously, unsure how to explain the late King's fate, Ragnar twitched his head. "He met with an, uh..." he paused, momentarily, carefully selecting his words. "_Unfortunate _accident."

His eyes unmoving, King Ecbert nodded with understanding. "Then we are _truly _equals." Forcing a smile, he gestured to his villa as any proper host might, beckoning them to follow. "Come, we can discusses our business over dinner in the dining hall." Gesturing for his men to come forward, he ordered them to tend to their horses. "My servants will see that your animals are watered and looked after, come, let us eat."

* * *

Sitting about King Ecbert's table, Gyda recalled the last time she had sat in the very same room. Peering from around Torstein, she could just make out Athelstan, who was seated next to King Ecbert, quietly translating for him any time someone said something worth his while. Catching her glance, he paused to smile at her before returning to his meal. Gyda, too, glanced at her plate. It was mostly filled with bread and meat, with the occasional vegetable here and there. She couldn't help herself. In fact, she struggled to restrain herself from tearing into the beef and chicken like a wild woman, it tasted so wonderful to her. She expected that it was probably due to cravings, as the mere smell of it filled her with longing.

"It is my pleasure to feed you and prove the bounty of our Earth." Said King Ecbert, from the head of the table, smiling about the table pleasantly. Gyda couldn't be certain, but something about his pleasantries seemed to be rehearsed, as if he had already thought about and strategized how the entire conversation would proceed. From what Athelstan had told her about him, she knew that he was very much like her father, which, in truth, worried her. With what little she knew and observed, there was something about him that she was skeptical of.

"What has happened to our people who have chosen to fight for Mercia?" Asked her father, from the other end of the long banquet table, looking between King Ecbert and Princess Kwenthrith expectantly.

Glancing at King Ecbert, the princess placed the piece of potato that she had been chewing upon her plate, sighing heavily as she reluctantly met her father's gaze. "Unfortunately, the forces of my uncle and younger brother have prevailed." She replied. "But, if you, Ragnar Lothbrok, and you, Lagerhta, would join us, I am sure of victory." Leaning upon the table, she looked between her parents hopefully, determination set ablaze in her hard green eyes.

Looking to Ragnar, her mother furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. Not having ever mastered English, unlike he or Gyda, she was at a loss of what was being said, let alone the question Princess Kwenthrith had asked of her. All she knew was that her name had been spoken, and naturally, she was curious to know why. "What does she say?" She asked of him in their native tongue.

"She wants us to fight for her for the throne of Mercia." He replied, glancing at the princess and King Ecbert briefly before return his tired and rather frustrated gaze to Lagertha. Gyda knew very well that fighting is the last thing her father wanted to deal with. All this time, he had been expecting to return to Wessex, in peace, and finally achieve what he had set out to do in this first place...establish a permnant settlement where their people would come to live and prosper in, but once again, things turned out to be much more complicated than anticipated.

"We came here to farm." Lagertha stated, her eyes downcast, a similar hint of frustration and disappointment in her voice. "She asks us to fight and die for a quarrel that is not ours..."

Shifting uncomfortably in response to the exchange, King Ecbert interrupted quickly, before Ragnar could say another word. "King Ragnar," he said, hastily. "I _have_ given you land, but let me tell you the truth, God as my witness, some of my nobles do not agree with what I've done." He admitted, wringing his hands nervously as he did so. "They are afraid, but I am determined to honor our treaty. In return, some of you, at least, _must_ fight for Princess Kwentrith."

So _this _was the condition. Gyda knew, as well as her father, that such a man such as Ecbert did not give without receiving something else in return, and Ragnar silently cursed himself for believing otherwise was possible. Rubbing his temple in exasperation, he sighed in resignation. "That is not part of our original agreement," he said, an edge of agitation in his voice. "But," he continued, "In good faith and in hopes of creating a long and prosperous friendship, I will fight, but, I cannot speak for the others."

A young man whom Gyda recognized as the king's son, Aethelwulf, straightened in his seat. "I will fight." He declared, glancing between her father and his own decisively. "Along side these pagans, for Mercia."

From Gyda's left, her uncle, Rollo, grunted. "What are you saying, Bróðir?" He asked, tearing into a large piece of chicken as he looked casually between Ragnar, Aethelwulf and King Ecbert, utterly unaware of anything that had been exchanged between them, with the exception of the few bits of it which was in their language, between Ragnar and Lagertha.

"I have agreed to fight."

Sighing, Rollo looked at King Ecbert for a moment before meeting his brother's eyes. "If my bróðir goes, then so do I."

Ragnar nodded, his eyes lingering upon his brother momentarily before shifting to his son, who was seated on the other side of the table, opposite to where Gyda was seated, nestled between Floki and a warrior named Erik."Bjorn?"

Bjorn thought for a moment, his eyes falling upon his sister and then his lover before he spoke. "When the spring comes, my blood heats up." He said, pausing for a moment to chew the meet which he had torn off of the bone which he twirled between his fingers. "I want nothing more than to raid and fight."

"I will fight, too." Porrun added, without a moment's hesitation, glancing at Bjorn for a mere second before returning her eyes to Ragnar, her decision being final in her mind.

"Between the plough and the axe, I will always choose the axe." Said Torstein, not so much as bothering to look up from his platter, nor waiting for her father to ask him what his decision would be. "You know me."

"Mercia is not our quarrel." Floki interjected, shaking his head as he carefully inspected the meat which he held loosely in his hand. "It is part of something much bigger. Not for us." He declared, looking down the table, he shot King Ecbert a suspicious and accusitory glance. "Maybe for _him_!"

Rolling his eyes, Ragnar ran his hand over his face tiredly. "Will you come or not?" He demanded, not wanting to discuss the matter any farther, as it was as clear to him as it was to all of them that the quest for Mercia was more than what King Ecbert lead it on to be. After dealing with him on several occasions, Ragnar would be foolish to think that a man such as Ecbert would help Princess Kwenthrith win the throne of Mercia purely out of the kindness of his heart...no, there was something that he wanted out of it, something he was determined to get and, for the mean time, they were all mere pawns in his devious plot.

"Yes, I will come." Floki eventually decided, returning his attentions to the meat. "The fly always follows the dead meat!"

Watching the entire exchange from afar, Athelstan leaned to King Ecbert and explained to him what was being discussed amongst the Northmen. "They all agree, except Lagertha and Gyda." He explained, nodding his head towards the pair of them.

Clearing his throat loudly, King Ecbert gestured for Athelstan to go stand beside Lagertha as he prepared to offer her a different opportunity, in hopes of restoring contentment among all of the Viking leaders. "In order to establish the settlement here, in Wessex, I need the help of one of your leaders." He suggested, hoping that she might accept his compromise. "A strong leader, someone whom my nobles will respect."

Looking to Athelstan, Lagertha quickly agreed when she understood King Ecbert's offer. "I will help you." She affirmed in her own tongue. "My parents were farmers, Ragnar and I were farmers; I will help my people to plough and sow the harvest, and make a place to live."

Meeting her husband's eyes, Gyda nodded in agreement. "I will uphold our agreement, husband." She declared in her native tongue. "I promised you that if such circumstance were to arise, that I would stay out of it." Peering down the length of the table, Gyda addressed King Ecbert decisively, doing her best to make her English as fluent and flawless as possible. "I, too, will remain in Wessex, with my mother, to help establish the settlement, as my husband," She gestured briefly to Athelstan, "Would want of me." She declared, glancing towards Athelstan, who nodded to her, pleased with her decision.

Looking between them, King Ecbert seemed momentarily shocked at the new revelation, as all he had known is that they were once promised to each other, but he quickly pushed these thoughts from his mind and returned it to that of business. His eyes resting upon Athelstan, he addressed him fondly. "And you, also, must stay, Athelstan." He declared. "You can speak for all sides, and surely, as has been discussed, your wife would be comforted with your presence. We need you...I need you."

Seeing no reason to argue with the King, Athelstan nodded wordlessly before returning to his seat. Nodding contently, King Ecbert once again looked about the table, pleased with how the negotiations had resulted, as anticipated, in his favor. Raising his goblet into the air, he toasted his personal victory with a hearty "Score" which others promptly joined, oblivious to his true celebration as they drank to what was perceived as peace.

* * *

Moving around the wagon, Athelstan grunted as he pulled the rope which held the tools and supplies stead in the uneven bed of the wagon. Securing them along the sides of the wagon, he paused his work when he caught sight of Gyda moving towards him. Grinning brightly at her, he kissed her lightly in greeting before returning to his work, packing the wagon to the point of overflow.

"Husband..." she said, touching his arm in a light, gentle sort of caress, stopping him from continuing his task. When she was certain that she had his full attention, she took his hands within her own, looking upon him with a calm sort of joy. "I have something to tell you..." She said, a smile growing upon her lips.

Moving himself from the wagon, Athelstan's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "What is it that you want to tell me?"

Pressing her lips together in a knowing grin, Gyda took his hand and pressed it against her stomach where he felt a peculiar bump which he hadn't noticed there before. His eyes widening, he quickly shifted his gaze from her abdomen to her eyes in search of confirmation for the thought that immediately came to his mind. Her smile broadening, Gyda nodded. "We're going to have a child, Athelstan." She confirmed.

Joy overwhelming him, Athelstan enveloped her within his arms, lifting her off of the ground and spinning her in a circle. Placing her feet back upon the ground, he took her face into his hands and kissed her lovingly upon the cheeks. "That's wonderful news!" He exclaimed. Bending down, he sat upon his his knees, so that his face was level with her stomach, he placed his hand on her middle tenderly, caressing it and feeling it with care and amazement. "It matters not if you are a boy or a girl," he said, to it, his smile broadened at the thought of the little baby inside, the baby that _he_ had helped to create. "All that matters is that you are healthy and strong. No matter what you are, I will love you the same, as I love your móðir."

Beaming, Gyda took cupped his cheeks in her hands as he stood and kissed him fervently, unable to help herself as she began to laugh with joy. "I knew you would be happy." She whispered as he pressed his forehead against hers. "I am glad me that we will be together." She said, her fingers absentmindedly tangling in his hair as they stood comfortably within each other's embrace. "I don't think I could've endured being apart, knowing that you might not return. We take care of each other, you and I."

Taking her cheeks in his hands, Athelstan kissed her gently upon the forehead. "Don't think such things." He said, his thumb tracing over the soft skin of her cheek. "Neither one of us will be leaving and we will be safe together, all _three _of us." He stressed, resting a hand upon her stomach, his grin returning to his face. "Wait for me with your móðir, I'm almost done here, I'll be there soon after."

Nodding, Gyda gave him one last kiss upon the cheek before disappearing into the crowd. Returning to his task, Athelstan had just finished situating the last of the supplies when he was yet again approached, but this time he was met not by the familiar and anticipated face of his wife or Ragnar, but that of Princess Judith, wife of Prince Aethelwulf and daughter of King Allele of Northumbria.

Taken aback, Athelstan furrowed his eyebrows as the Princess smiled shyly at him. "Princess?"

"I just wanted to wish you and your people good fortune." She explained quickly, shifting her weight uncertainly as her gaze moved between his eyes and her feet. "My prayers go with you."

Smiling gratefully, Athelstan nodded in acknowlegement. "Thank you, my lady."

Judith bit her lip uncertainly as she watched him return to his work. For a moment, she nearly turned away from him, deciding to abandon her previous pursuits of engaging in conversation with him. It had taken all of her courage merely to approach him, let alone say anything. At the last minute, she mustered up the last of her courage and said the first thing that came to her mind. "May I touch your hand?

Cocking his head in confusion, Athelstan once again acknowledged Judith. "My hand?" He asked, clearly taken aback by her strange inquiry.

"They told me you were crucified." She said, looking at his hand curiously. "And you still bear the stigmata of Christ..."

Shaking his head, Athelstan quickly returned to his work, hoping that Judith would drop the topic. "It's not true."

"Then why not show me your hand?" She pressed, advancing upon him slowly, inwardly wondering if it was wise for her to press the subject farther.

"I..."

Against her better judgement, Judith quickly grabbed his hand before he could withdraw himself, moving aside his fingers so she could properly see his palm. "It is true." She gasped, tracing her fingers tenderly over his scarred flesh, looking upon the wound with wide eyes. Bowing her head, she planted a gentle kiss upon it.

Uncomfortable with her action, Athelstan quickly withdrew his hand. Recovering from his sudden movement, Judith quickly returned to reality, looking over her shoulder and seeing her husband, Aethelwulf watching them with a disapproving glance from afar. Looking back to Athelstan, she opened her mouth to say an additional comment, but he had already gone.

Peering over the crowd, Judith could barely make him out with the young Scandinavian maid whom she'd known to be called "Gyda", the daughter of Ragnar Lothbrok. Bitterly, she watched as the pair greeted each other with a kiss before Athelstan set about helping her onto the wagon before following immediately after her, his arm resting loosely about her waist. Inwardly, Judith questioned how a good Christian man such as he could love a pagan, and she was so young...she couldn't be more than nineteen. The entire prospect utterly appalled her.

Athelstan was a good man, with good morals and he deserved a woman of similar virtue. This _girl _was no more than an uncivilized savage. Surely, in time, Athelstan would come to realize that. Turning on her heel, Judith forced a smile as she prepared to bid her husband farewell, all the while, another man occuping her mind and her heart.

* * *

**After doing some research, Gyda would be about 6-8 weeks pregnant when she begins to experience nausea, making her about 2 months along. It wasn't exactly clear on what month or season they returned to Wessex, so I assumed it was early spring, when they would have the first opportunity to sail. After researching weather patterns in Norway, I learned that flowers appear as early as February in mild years, signaling the beginning of spring, but to be safe, let's assume they set off on their journey in March, making Gyda's due date be some time in September. **

**I did a lot of work making sure that my plans had no loose ends and still worked well with the plot. In the show, it still seemed to be in the warm weather season during the duration of their voyage to England, as well as during growing season (in reference to the fertility ceremony featured in Episode 3, Season 3 "Warrior's Fate"). Hopefully after everything I've done, I haven't thoughtlessly over looked anything!**

***If you look up traditional Viking homes in Norway, you'll get a good idea of what I'm attempting to describe**

**Question for Readers: Judith or no Judith? I was leaning towards keeping Judith in the story, even though she annoys me immensly, purely for the reason that I'm certain that Judith and Athelstan's son, Alfred, will eventually become important to the plot. Secondly, I'm opened to name suggestions for Gyda and Athelstan's child, I'd prefer something meaningful and significant to their culture, for historical accuracy.**


	12. Chapter 12: Between Truth and Lies

By the gentle light of a small central hearth, Gyda lay with her husband on a humble bed made of straw. It had only been about four weeks since they had first arrived at the settlement, and in that time, they had only the time to build themselves a small, temporary shelter which would serve as their home for the duration of their stay in England. The one room cabin dwelling generally served as a home to themselves and Gyda's mother, Lagertha, but more often than before, Lagertha had made arrangments to sleep elsewhere, insisting that they be allowed more privacy, seeing as they were soon-to-be parents and their marriage, itself, still in the newly wed phase, which they could not honestly dispute. Since they had last left King Ecbert's villa, it had seemed too good to be true that she could be expecting a child, but now that her stomach protruded from beneath her dress, she could no longer deny the fact.

Presently, her lips curled into a smile as Athelstan's hands traced over her growing abdomen. Laying her head upon his shoulder, she watched him curiously, analyzing every movement he made, each shadow of a smile, each graze of his hand, each gentle breath and movement of his torso, each measured thump if his heart through his chest. "You will be a fine father, Athelstan." She decided, attempting to speak in his native tongue before reverting back to her own language, deciding against over-working her brain in these early hours of the morning. Her fingers traced tenderly over his jaw, entwining with his beard. "I am happy that you shall be the faðir of my child."

His lips curving into a small smile, he leaned down and gently placed his lips upon her forehead, snaking his arm beneath her back and wrapping it around her waist. Sighing pleasantly, Gyda laid her head upon his well-built chest, her hand resting loosely upon his breast as she silently calculated his heartbeat. "How peculiar life is. Just a year ago I was a naive girl of sixteen, ignorant to many things in life...then, I would have never imagined that I would be reunited with you or faðir in this life, and now..." Looking deeply into his eyes, she grinned happily as he ran his fingers through her long hair which fanned out upon his chest. "How much things have changed. I shall no sooner be eighteen and then I shall be a móðir."

"How old was your mother when she had her first child?" He asked, running his fingers absentmindedly over her spine.

"Sixteen." She said, curling into him, attempting to mold her body into his, but in vain as her child had grown so much within her that only her belly made contact with his side. Leaning her head upon his shoulder and entwining her legs with his in an effort of being closer to him, she waited until she was in a comfortable position before she continued to speak. "My parents were very young when they fell in love. My faðir was immediately taken with her. He once told Bjorn and I that he had to fight off a ferocious hound and a _bear _to win her favor." She laughed, softly at the thought. "Sometimes I think that my faðir is exaggerating...but then I remember it was móðir whom he sought after, and I begin to believe the tale."

Athelstan smiled a bit at this, but his eyes remained fix upon the cieling of their dwelling, deep in thought. A moment of silence passed between them, the only sound to be heard being the gentle crackling and popping of the fire beside them, which just barely illuminated his thoughtful gaze. Turning on his side, suddenly, Athelstan grasped Gyda's stomach tenderly, his gaze locking with hers, an uncertain, somberness within thier blue depths. "Will I?" He demanded, almost in desparation. "Gyda..." He searched her eyes. "I hardly know who or what I can believe, let alone where I belong...how can I be a proper father to a young, impressionable child when I don't know who I am, myself?" He shook his head with a heavy sigh, resting his forehead against her swelling abdomen. "How will I ever be able to teach this child anything? As Floki said before, I may look the part, but does that mean that I've changed? I've nothing to offer..."

Gyda shook her head, dismissing his words. Running her fingers through his hair soothingly, she urged him to look at her. "You underestimate yourself, my love." She said, knowingly. "You are a strong, intelligent, kind, compassionate, selfless man who knows more about the world and the ways of mankind than anyone I've ever known." She insisted. "I would want no other man to be my child's faðir."

A shadow of a smile returning to Athelstan's face, he slowly moved his hand across her stomach when he felt an unfamiliar thump against his palm. His eyes widening out of surprise, he quickly looked to Gyda who also portrayed a look of surprise and wonderment. "W-was that...?" He trailed off as she merely nodded, resting her hand beside his as if trying to prompt another, similar episode.

"Athelstan-" She began, but she was cut off by yet another movement from inside her, which caused her to gasp slightly out of surprise. Looking down at her middle in amazement, a grin spread across her lips. Meeting her husband's eyes, her eyes glinted with joy. "There's a little person inside me, Athelstan." She said, in part to properly convince herself of the fact. "_Our_ baby."

Beaming in return, all of the thoughts that haunted him seemed to dissipate at once in that instance. Cupping her cheeks within his hands, he pressed his lips to hers enthusiastically before returning to her middle. "Amazing..." he managed after a time, shaking his head in disbelief. "There's a little life in there...that _we _made." Shaking his head once again, he left one hand upon her stomach before returning his head to his pillow, laying on his side so he made direct eye contact with his wife. "I suppose we should start thinking of names soon."

"Do you think it will be a boy or a girl?" Gyda asked, unable to completely rid herself of her smile.

Athelstan shrugged, moving his hand from her stomach to her hand which he grasped lightly as their fingers entwined, moving playfully about the other's hand, moving in feathery patterns over the other's palm and fingers. "As I told you before, it matters not to me."

"But you must have _some _thought." She insisted.

Athelstan rolled his eyes playfully. "Fine." He conceded. "A boy." He said eventually. "I think it will be a boy."

Nodding, Gyda considered his answer carefully. "And why do you say that?"

"Need I remind you that you once promised me sons?" He countered, flashing her an impish grin. "And I've never known _you_ to brake a promise."

"Fair enough." She laughed, clasping his hand, thus dismissing their fingers from their game. "I can't be made into a liar, can I?" She agreed with a grin similar to his. "That wouldn't do." She paused, peering up at him curiouusly. "But what if it should be a girl?"

"Then we will love her just the same." He assured her. Peering briefly at the small window across the room which was crudely covered with a piece of cloth. From behind it came the faint light of morning, which reminded him that they still had the settlement to work. Sighing heavily, he kissed Gyda's forehead before rolling out of bed, slipping his tunic over his head and pulling back his hair. "It would seem the morning has caught up with us."

Groaning, Gyda reluctant got out of bed, struggling to get around her middle in order to stand. Smiling amusedly, Athelstan abandoned his tunic lacings for a moment to fetch her dress which he pulled over her head and helped her adjust around her belly before continuing on to the lacings on her back. "Are you sure that you want to continue working in the fields?" He inquired, his voice filling with concern. "I know that you said that you want to be able to help, but the child..."

"Is fine." She assured him, turning to face him once he had finished. Kissing him lightly on the lips, she rested her hand upon his cheek. "I appreciate your concern for me and for the child, but trust me when I tell you that I know my limits. I think first and foremost about the baby, which is why I set aside my desire to battle and decided to stay behind in the settlement."

Nodding wordlessly, Athelstan took her hand, kissed it briefly, a faint smile upon his face. "I trust you." He said, his eyes lingering upon hers before resuming his morning routine.

* * *

Wiping the sweat from her brow, Gyda glanced across the dirt path that ran through the middle of the settlement, her eyes falling upon her mother, who was faced with a similar task. Looking down at herself, she could see that she was covered, from head to foot, in dirt, her sweat having soaked through her clothing. Pausing a moment to catch her breath, she leaned against her shovel, closing her eyes as a cold breeze passed through.

"Milady?"

Opening her eyes, her gaze fell upon a youg girl, no more than seven years old staring up at her. In her arms, she balanced a large bucket, filled to the brim with water. "I didn't mean to disturb you, Miss, but I was wondering if you would like some water." Lifting the bucket as much as she could with her little hands, she attempted to present it to her.

Smiling, Gyda graciously accepted the ladle, spooning a large cup of cool water into her mouth. "Thank you." She said with a nod of her head, but the small girl remained where she stood, her eyes still fixated upon her.

The girl shrugged, placing the bucket at her feet. "You looked tired." She explained, her eyes lingering on Gyda's stomach. "Did you know you're going to have a baby? It's not a fruit. I swallowed a seed once and my big brother told me the fruit would grow in my stomach, but Momma said it wasn't so." She said, looking up at her with innocent eyes.

Trying her best not to laugh, Gyda bit her lip as she nodded. "Yes, I know that I'm going to have a baby." She replied, placing a hand upon her middle in acknowlegement of the statement.

"Good." The girl said, pleased with herself. She paused for a moment, her eyebrows furrowing in thought. "How did it get in there?" She asked, cocking her head in curiosity, following closely behind Gyda as she walked into the street, her eyes following Athelstan and King Ecbert as they moved from the main house to where her mother worked. "Y-you didn't...swallow it...did you? My brother said that's how babies get there..."

Turning back towards the child, Gyda could feel her cheeks turning red at the question. "N-no. I didn't _swallow _my baby...do you see that man right over there?" She asked the small girl, pointing towards Athelstan, the girl following her finger and nodding when her eyes fell upon him. "He is my husband," she explained, "Just like your mother and father, we love each other. That is why I'm going to have a baby."

"Oooh." The girl said, nodding her head in understanding. "So, you _didn't_ swallow it, then?"

"No." Gyda confirmed, unable to stop herself from giggling. Patting the girl on the head, she sent her along her way. "Run along now, I'm sure plenty more people are in need of your services." She urged her, "Thank you, again, for the water."

Making her way to where the King, Athelstan, and her mother stood, she could just hear the beginnings of the converstaion between them. "Ecbert has to return to his villa." Athelstan informed them in their native togue, grinning briefly and wrapping his arm around Gyda's waist when he became aware of her presence. "But he has asked if we would accompany him, and stay there a few days."

Smiling, Lagertha nodded, attempting to wipe the dirt and grime off of her face, shaking her head as she examined herself. "Tell him I agree." She said, before resuming her examination of her appearance. "I need a bath." She determined.

Athelstan turned to King Ecbert, replying with a curt nod. "She will come." He affirmed, tightening his grip on Gyda's waist. "We all will."

* * *

Though she'd been a guest at King Ecbert's table numerous times before now, Gyda could never find comfort in the position. She was grateful to be seated next to her husband, her hand clasped loosely in his beneath the table in attempts to soothe her, having noted her discomfort. She shifted uncomfortably, under the unnerving sensation of being constantly observed as if she were some kind of experiement being tested and examined to see what would make her squirm.

Across from her, Princess Judith watched her intently, though seemingly more discreet about her interest than her father in law. Gyda wasn't sure what to make of her, Judith seemed to be a kind young woman, and Gyda felt both grateful and comforted to have the company of another woman close to her age, and a young mother at that, but something about her seemed distant. She couldn't quite tell how Judith felt about her, she perfectly portrayed her role as the gracious hostess, but something about her demeanor seemed almost _forced_.

Smiling faintly, Judith gestured towards Gyda, her gaze lingering on her protruding middle. "Will this be your first child?" She asked, breaking the silence that lingered amongst the occupants of the dining hall.

Gyda nodded, subconsciously resting her hand upon her baby bump. "Yes," she replied, "And I understand that you have also recently become a mother?"

Nodding, Judith quickly averted her gaze, looking at her food. "I have a son," she acknowledged, "His name is Aethelred."

Beaming, Gyda quickly congratulated her. "I would very much appreciate it if you would be so kind as to offer advice to me about being a new mother." She glanced briefly at Athelstan. "Everything is so new to us, I doubt we know what we're truly getting ourselves into!"

The entire table chuckled lightly, with the exception of Judith who merely smiled. "Of course." She said. "I'd be happy to offer any knowledge that I can bestow."

Once again, silence fell upon them, the only sound issuing from the table occupants being the occasional 'clang' of utensils against plates, or tearing of meat, or the dull 'plunk' of a goblet being returned to the table. The uncomfortable silence lingered once again for a time before it was once again broken by Judith. "Have we news of our army?"

"Not yet." King Ecbert replied from the head of the table. "But with Ragnar Lothbrok, how can we fail?"

"Ever since I saw Ragar Lothbrok and his kin at my father's house, I've been fascinated with these Northmen, especially by their pagan ways." Judith admitted, averting her gaze towards her food, uncertain of whether it wise to say such things. "You were a monk, Athelstan," she said suddenly, catching everyone by surprise, especially Athelstan, who was rather unprepared for being addressed. "You lived amongst the pagans. Tell me, what was it like?"

"Lady Judith, you are a good Christian woman..." He trailed off. "How can I describe such things to you?"

Smiling to herself, Judith popped a grape into her mouth, chewing slowly as she smirked at him, looking at him in a way that made feel Gyda uncomfortable. "Try me." She challenged, coolly.

Moving forward in his seat, Athelstan locked his gaze upon the princess, the passion and knowingness which Gyda had grown to admire about him exhibited vividly in his deep blue eyes. "Imagine the sun shone at night and the moon during the day," he began, gesticulating to emphasize his imagery. His voice was so smooth and consuming that Gyda couldn't help but cling to every word that rolled off of his silver-tongue. "Then, imagine that everything you knew about Jesus Christ was not true, and that the true god was a living man, with a single eye, a cloak, a wide brimmed hat, and that this man, Odin, the all father, new the secret of every heart and the destiny of all men, and that he, too, was hanged from a tree, and died and was reborn." He continued, a small smile coming to his lips, thinking of the culture that he had grown so fond of, yet he could completely accept. "Only it happened a long time before Christ...before our Lord."

Judith, waiting politely until Athelstan had finished his explanation furrowed her brow in confusion, or, possibly disapproval. "And do you believe in this...Odin?" She questioned, almost interrogatively.

Athelstan, however, merely shrugged. "I've had to ask myself, what is belief, my lady."

Lagertha, who was still new to the strange language of English, followed the conversation with difficulty, not getting much more than the fact that they were, at some point, talking about Odin, the All-Father. Tugging at Athelstan's sleeve as if she were a small child, she inquired as to what exactly had conspired between the princess and himself. "Athelstan, you are talking of Odin," she said in her native tongue, "What are you saying?"

"I love Odin." Athelstan replied with a shrug, carefully averting his gaze, unwilling to completely translate what he had said for fear of what she might say or think of him. Gyda couldn't blame him. She knew his conflict and she knew how he was unfairly judged by both her people and the Christians. "And I love Jesus Christ." He added, almost hesitantly. "What else can I say?" He began to shake slightly under the pressure. Gently, Gyda placed her hand upon his leg, his body relaxing slightly beneath her touch.

Smiling at her gratefully, the pair of them turned their attention to King Ecbert, who had stood suddenly, gesturing for one of his servants to come forward. "I have another gift for you, Lagertha." He explained, referring to the box that the servant carried towards the table, presenting it to Ecbert as he reached to lift the gift out of the box. "Stones are much easier to wear than earth." He insisted, revealing a beautiful blue stoned necklace. "May I?"

Lagertha nodded hesitantly, still trying to make sense of what had happened. Lifting her hair from her shoulders, she allowed Ecbert to clasp the necklace around her neck, placing her hair carefully back in its place when he had finished, taking a step away from her to properly admire her. "Beautiful." He declared, looking on at Gyda's mother in such a way that made Gyda uncomfortable.

There was something about this place and these people that felt..._wrong _to her. She had always valued herself to find the best in everyone, but something in her instincts mistrusted both King Ecbert _and _Judith, though she had no reason to feel so. Perhaps she was only paranoid. After all, only a few months ago, these people were her enemies...surely that was all.

Gyda immediately felt guilty for thinking such things about her hosts. They had been nothing but kind and hospitible to both her and her family. She felt ashamed of herself for even considering that their intentions could be false. Sure, Ecbert was a ambitious man, but that didn't mean that he couldn't be kind, did it? Her father was kind, after all. And Judith... she'd done nothing to make her mistrust her. If Athelstan could trust these people, then why shouldn't she?

* * *

"He is a handsome little boy, you and your husband must be proud." Gyda smiled at the little prince as she rocked him slowly in her arms. She tickled his chubby chin and played with his little fingers as he grabbed up at her, grinning and gurgling merrily. "How old is he?"

"Five months." She replied stoutly, "As of last week."

Judith observed as Gyda craddled her son from across the room with what might have been a frightened expression upon her gentle features. Looking between the young Viking maid and her unborn child still growing within her womb, Judith's heart filled with jealousy. She couldn't bring herself to make any more excuses, not even in thought. She was jealous of Gyda, of her freedom, of her happiness, of her beauty, of her child, of her marriage...

Shifting her weight in her discomfort, she tried her best not to reveal her distaste as her thoughts shifted to the conversation that she'd had with Athelstan just a few days before. She could still remember how nervous and anxious she was before she entered the confessional, she had almost avoided her confession altogether for fear of what he might say, but using what remained of her courage, she set foot into the box. She didn't bother to stay to hear her penance, she was too embarrassed and to frightened of what Athelstan might say or think of her after she admitted to having lusted after him. Ever since then, she had spent all of her time and energy trying to avoid him or his wife for fear of the guilt inflicted upon her at the sight or mention of them, but despite all her efforts, there Gyda sat, at the foot of her bed, with _her_ son in her arms.

"W-when are you expecting your child?" She asked suddenly, in an attempt to distract herself from her thoughts.

Gyda paused for a moment to examine herself. "I visited a Midwife only two days ago, and she told me that I've been carrying the child for about eighteen weeks." She replied. "She said that at the rate the child is growing, I could deliver in about four months."

"Do you think you'll still be in England by that time?" Judith pressed, with sincere interest as she took a seat beside her at the foot of the bed. "Surely it would be best for you to stay here until your baby is born. It could be dangerous and difficult to deliver if your time should come whilst you are at sea."

Gyda merely shrugged. "I suppose it all depends on when the armies return from Mercia." She said. "It could be in a few weeks, it could be in a few months, but you needn't worry about me, Princess Judith. I am perfectly prepared for whatever should happen."

"Yes." Judith agreed with some hesitation. "And your husband..." she began, regretting her words as she spoke them, "Surely he will look after you and care for you as you should require..."

"Athelstan? Oh, yes." Gyda agreed. "He is a wonderful husband. I couldn't ask for any better."

Judith nodded, cursing herself for being unable to distract herself from Athelstan. "Your child will be fortunate to have such a good and kind man as a father, and...benign mother."

Gyda thanked her, which made Judith despise her more. How could she be so nice and beautiful both inside and out? Weren't the pagans supposed to be heathens and uncivilized? Even more, she hated that she couldn't find anything wrong with her, her mother, or her marriage. Although she hated to admit it, it certainly _did _seem that she truly loved Athelstan, and even worse, _he _loved _her_. Forcing yet another smile, Judith laughed softly out of disbelief and jealousy. "How lucky you are, indeed."


	13. Chapter 13: Two Worlds, One Life

Rolling over on to her side, Gyda streched her arm across the smooth canvas of sheets, her fingers extending to their full length, but she was met with nothing but evening's chill. Disturbed by the absence of her husband, her eyes fluttered open, looking about the room groggily. Struggling to bring herself to a sitting position, she managed to prop herself up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she once again scanned the room that she and Athelstan had been assigned to during their stay at King Ecbert's villa, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness.

"Athelstan?" she spoke into the darkness, her voice barely louder than a whisper. She paused, awaiting an answer, but was met with silence. Realizing that she was alone, she crawled out from beneath the covers, her night shift pooling at her ankles as her small feet made contact with the cool stone floor. She shivered she she moved soundlessly across the room, grabbing a shall to wrap around her body before she slipped through the door and wondered down the hall.

Pulling the fabric close around her body, she rested her hand upon her swelling stomach, now roughly five months grown, which protuded from beneath her coverings. Wandering knowingly down the corridors, she found herself at the threshold of Athelstan's former quarters which he had spent many a time within its walls during his captivity. Surely enough, upon entering the small room, her eyes fell upon a small candle placed upon his desk, casting a soft, orange glow upon the stone walls. Beside the desk sat her husband, dressed in naught but his own night shift, hunched over, his face hidden behind his scarred hands, captive of his own thoughts.

"I thought I might find you here." She said, prompting him to look up at her, guilt apparent with in his eyes. Ignoring his meek expression, she retrieved herself a stool and took a seat before him. Taking his large hands within her small ones, she pressed her lips to his scarred flesh before resting their clasped hands within her lap. "Having trouble sleeping again?"

"I didn't mean to disturb you with my absence." He muttered, looking away from her, unable to meet her eyes as his previous thoughts returned to him. His guilt rose to his throat as he recalled his conversation with Princess Judith mere hours before in the bath houses. He regretted his thoughts and actions in the absence of his wife; he hated himself for lusting after another woman other than she, even if it was only for a few minutes, even if it was only in thought. He knew he was better than that, and he was ashamed of himself and felt himself unworthy of being within Gyda's presence. He didn't deserve her pity or her love.

Gyda shook her head, dismissing his words. "You've nothing to apologize for." She insisted, offering him a consoling smile. "What is on your mind, my love? It pains me to see you upset. If there is anything I can do to help soothe your ailments, please tell me. I want to help you."

Athelstan shook his head _If only she knew _he thought to himself, _she wouldn't be so understanding._

Gyda sighed when he answered her with silence, running her slim fingers over his knuckles as if to remind him of her presence. "Are you unhappy here?" She asked of him, searching in his downcast eyes for some sign of a response. "Before we came to Wessex you were happy, _we _were happy. What has changed?" She eyed him almost pleadingly, feeling utterly useless not knowing what she could do to help him.

Athelstan merely shook his head, attempting to dismiss her concern. "It's nothing." He lied, maybe more to convince himself rather than her. As if to assure her of his statement, his lips curled into a smile as he stood, holding her hand loosely within his own. She followed his fashion, coming to her feet, but by the look on her face he could tell that she wasn't completely convinced.

Unable to meet her questioning gaze, his eyes moved to her middle which had grown significantly since their last visit to the villa. Resting his hand upon her middle, a genuine grin played upon his lips. "It shouldn't be long now." He said, sharing his grin with his wife. Bending down upon his knees so that his head was level with her middle, he pressed his lips to the thin fabric of her night shift, feeling the softness of her skin beneath it as his lips brushed over her. Placing his hands upon Gyda's waist, he pulled her closer to him as he lowered his voice nearly to a whisper, speaking softly to his child which still grew within her. "Whether you are a boy or a girl, I don't care." He said, tracing his thumb absentmindedly across Gyda's abdomen. "All that matters is that you will be mine." He declared. "And because you are my flesh and blood, I swear to love and care for you with all of my heart, for the rest of my days, both here, in my mortal life and all those that follow, long after I am dead and cold in my grave." He paused, rising back to his full height, looking down upon Gyda as he took her head within his hands. "You are mine, and I am yours. That will never change."

Gyda smiled, placing her hand upon his, holding it to her cheek, enjoying his warmth which she had been deprived of the last few days. "I love you with all of my heart and all of my being." She declared, bringing his palm to her lips and placing a light kiss upon his tender flesh. "Always, in this life and in the next."

Athelstan grinned, his body filling with warmth and pure happiness. Sighing, he took her hand, glancing once more about the room. "It's late." He determined. "Let us return to our bedchamber, where we belong." He said, earning a smile and nod from his wife. Bending over to extinguish the candle, he allowed her to lead him back into the hall and into their room.

Though his heart felt light and giddy, his mind was still heavy with guilt. This wasn't the first time that he had struggled between honor and disgrace, nor questioned himself on what was right and what was wrong, but this was different than any conflicts he had endured in his past. Gyda loved him, and he loved her, any man in his right mind knew what they shared was not worth risking for some passionate (not to mention immoral) affair, but somehow he didn't find it so easy to distract himself from Judith. She was beautiful, she was daring, she was intelligent...and she was married, and so was he. It was unfair to both Prince Aethelwulf and Gyda to even consider the princess as more than an ally and friend, and every moral fiber in his being reminded him of the fact, but somehow desire wouldn't cease its plague.

* * *

When they had returned from their second visit to King Ecbert's Villa, life had returned to its normal routine: wake up with the sun, feed the livestock, work the fields, build a pen or house or two, eat when there was time, and depart for sleep only to wake up to repeat a similar pattern the next morning. Before they had realized, four weeks had come and gone with little to no sight of King Ecbert or the princess. Without their presence, life became rather uneventful, peaceful and relaxed, but nevertheless, common.

In her condition, Gyda was not permitted to continue with the hard labor that she had previously attended and, that perticular morning, was tasked with feeding the livestock. Balancing a basket of corn against her hip, she scooped handfuls of the the dried corn and evenly dispersed it about the chicken yard, humming to herself as she did so. Across the way, she could see her husband and her mother loading and unloading farming tools which were to be taken to various areas of their settlement. Every so often, she would spare a glance at them, but this time she was distracted by a small regiment of riders approaching from the northern entrance of the settlement.

At the front of the party, Gyda instantly recognized King Ecbert, and by his side, Princess Judith. The rest of the company, she could only assume, was some of his nobles or guards as they dressed in too high of status to be mistaken for commoners.

Curious as to what brought the king here, after so long of an absence, Gyda quickly placed her basket upon a shelf inside the barn, wiping her hands briefly on her skirt before hurrying over to the main street, or, as quickly as she could with her swollen ankles caused from her pregnancy. "We bring you good news, our armies have defeated the Mercians." King Ecbert informed them, pulling her mother into a friendly embrace as Gyda waddled as quickly as she was physically able towards them. "Thank God my son, Athelwulf, is alive, and also King Ragnar, and your son."

Lagertha smiled, shaking her head in disbelief. Whirling around to beckon Gyda and tell her the good news, she was pleased to find her standing just a few feet away. Taking her hand, she pulled her to her side, squeezing her hand tightly in her joy. "Then we, too, thank the gods."

Coming to her side, Athelstan rested his hand upon her hip, a small grin present upon his lips as he offered their guests a curt nod in acknowledgement of their presence. "You must stay," he insisted, looking between the King and the Princess. "We are ready to serve first crop."

Lagertha smiled, nodding in agreement. "And sacrifice to Frey, to ensure its success."

Princess Judith, despite her uncertain expression, quickly expressed her acceptance of the invitation. "We should stay." She said quickly, looking to King Ecbert almost pleadingly before returning her eyes to Athelstan, resuming her intent examination of him which Gyda had not failed to notice, prompting her to shift uncomfortably within her husand's grasp beneath the princess's gaze. "And take part." She added after a brief pause, as if it were an after thought.

His lips curling into a grin, King Ecbert nodded in his consent. "I agree, we will stay for the sacrifice."

From somewhere behind the two rulers came an urgent whisper of "My Lord!" the tone sharp and disapproving of the King's decision. The comment earned a stern frown from the King who promptly wheeled around to address his men, meeting each of them with an authoritative glare.

"I said, we will stay."

* * *

Her fingers traced gently over the bull's large torso as she painted intricate designs upon its rough flesh. Her fingers stained with red paint which hue was that of blood, Gyda completed her masterpiece, stepping away from the beast when she had finished, placing the bowl of paint upon a tree stump beside the empty dais which her mother would soon ascend to begin the sacrificial ceremony.

Moving to stand beside Athelstan, she spared him a brief glance which he returned, before returning her eyes to the clearing as the executioners entered the scene. His eyes unmoving from the center of the circle which the onlookers had formed surrounding the beast, Athelstan's fingers entwined with hers, earning a small sigh of contentment from Gyda which Athelstan had only been aware of from the slight shudder of her body as the drums resonated so loudly around them that he found it difficult to think let alone hear.

As the intensity of the drums slowly faded into silence, Lagertha ascended the dais. Her hair was fashioned with an abundance of braids, weaved together and pulled back, the other half of her hair left to hang loosely upon her plain white tunic. With the exception of the plain white fabric she wore, her body was completely bare, her feet stained with the soil of the earth. Her jaw was set in hard expression as she regarded the crowd with her intense blue eyes. When she spoke, her voice was powerful and thunderous in her native tongue. "Frey, god of plenty, shining Frey, we summon you. We offer you this sacrifice." She said, Princess Judith and King Ecbert shifting uncomfortably at her sheer intensity, though they didn't understand a word she said. "Frey, son of Njord, you who decides when the sun rises or the rain comes down, bring forth the fruitfulness of the earth. With the blood of this sacrifice, nourish and make fecund mother earth, with your phallus, fill her womb for the increase of the earth." She paused, lifting her chin knowingly, her eyes scanning the crowd as she raised her hands, her eyes coming to rest upon the beast standing before her. "Now is the time."

All around them chanting began to errupt, over and over "Now is the time. Now is the time." The King and his party looked about the northmen in confusion, and, quite possibly, fear. Princess Judith's eyes widened confundedly when she noticed that Athelstan's deep and even voice had joined them. She had never seen him in this world, this strange, barbarious world of pagans. She had never truly accepted that he could ever _completely _be one of them, but watching him as he stared, almost eagerly, at the scene before him, she felt unsure if she ever _truly _knew the man who lived amongst the wildmen.

Her hands held loosely within Athelstan's, Gyda watched with apprehension as the blade was drawn, the executioner resting it gently upon the bull's thick neck, measuring where exactly he should aim. She was not afraid of death, the sight of blood did not make her light-headed, she was a strong woman who had witness many unpleasant things in her short life, but nothing frightened her more than the expressions upon the Englishmen's faces. They were revolted by her and her kind and the only thing staying their hands was a King whom she wouldn't trust with her drinking goblet much less her life. She knew that is was a fatal mistake to invite them to their sacred sacrifice. She knew what was running through their minds, and she simply couldn't understand why it seemed that everyone was blind to the tension except her.

Distracting herself from the English nobles, she retrieved an empty wooden basin, returning to Athelstan side just in time for the executioner's blade to come swinging down, cleaving the bull's head clean off, its blood pooling into the stone basin before it, running into a river of blood onto the earth. As its lifeless body fell with a heavy thud, Gyda, along with several others, made their way to the corpse, filling their basins with the rich fluid. Two attendants brought a pair of the basins before Lagertha, she dipped two of her fingers into the thick liquid, painting her chin with the fresh blood. As she removed her fingers from her face, the two basin bearers tipped their containers, soaking her in the deep red substance, providing her with an unworldly formidability.

Accepting a basin of her own, Gyda moved to stand beside her mother, following her to the freshly plowed fields where they paused momentarily, waiting for everyone to take their place before they began their parade. Dipping her hand into the warm liquid, Gyda cupped the blood in her palm, casting it onto the ground so that it would soak into the earth and nourish its thirst so Frey might reward them with a bountiful harvest.

* * *

Contrary to Gyda's beliefs, since the sacrificial ceremony, King Ecbert had been more courteous than ever to her family and people, once again opening his home to her mother, Athelstan, and herself, providing them with whatever they could want or require, including regular midwife examinations, as Gyda was quickly nearing her time. Presently, she lay upon her back in the feather bed she and Athelstan shared, her dress bunched up beneath her breasts so the midwife could have proper access to her abdomen. Athelstan, meanwhile, had been asked to leave, but promptly refused under the grounds that the child was as much his as it was Gyda's and he wanted to be as involved as he possibly could be. Though not without indignation, the midwife agreed to let him stay under the conditions that the lower half of Gyda's body was covered with fresh linen which Athelstan found utterly ridiculous, but chose not to complain.

He watched with intent curiosity as the midwife pressed against Gyda's womb, feeling for the child and examining her to make sure everything was progressing normally. "Today marks the end of your thirty-first week, by now the child may have turned in to position for delivery." The midwife explained as she felt her lower abdomen for signs of this change. She paused for a moment, coming across something tht made her grin. "That would be the head," she explained, pointing her finger to the bottom of her belly, just above her pelvis. "It would seem your baby is very eager to meet you. Some of my patients don't turn head-down until the thirty-fourth week."

"Does this mean she'll be going into labor soon?" Athelstan asked, peeking over her shoulder like an over-eager child.

The midwife shrugged, pulling down Gyda's dress and removing the cloth from her lower-half, folding it neatly as she regarded Athelstan. "Perhaps." She said shortly, looking upon him with a sour expression. Turning back to Gyda, she smiled sweetly at the expectant mother, taking her hand and squeezing it affectionately. "You'll be ready when the time comes." She said. "And when that day does come, I'll be right by your side, guiding you through the whole thing. Make sure you get plenty of rest in the mean time. And _no _indecent behavior until _after _the child is delivered." She added, looking to Athelstan challengingly, moving towards the door to the room, she shot one last glare towards Athelstan before taking her leave, sharply bidding the pair of them a good evening.

Athelstan waited several minutes following the woman's departure before taking a seat upon the bed beside Gyda, assisting her into a sitting position. "I don't understand why she's so offended by me. You would think, being a mid-wife, she would understand that it takes _two_ to conceive a child." He said jokingly, absentmindedly tracing his finders down the crest of her neck. "She seems to forget I'm _much _more...um..._familiar_ with you than she is." He added, smirking at the blush that bloomed upon her cheeks, but quickly faded when he noticed the frown that occupanied it. "What's wrong?"

"Athelstan..." She began, searching his eyes almost pleadingly. "I'm frightened."

Athelstan knit his eyebrows together in confusion. "You, _scared_? Gyda, you heard the pompous woman, she'll be there through everything, as will I, whether she likes it or not, you have nothing to fear. Everything will be fine."

Gyda shook her head, pressing her eyes closed in frustration. "No, that's not what I meant." She said sharply. "Something isn't right. I don't trust these people." She confessed. "King Ecbert is not the kind of man to do favors out of the goodness of his heart, and that...that _Princess_," she spat, shaking her head in distaste. "I see the way she looks at you, Athelstan. I'm not stupid, and I don't like it, I don't like it one bit."

Athelstan's throat went dry. In hindsight, he should have known that she would've noticed sooner or later, Gyda was not an ignorant woman. He was innocent, of course, but that didn't mean that his thoughts didn't waver, but that didn't mean he was giving in to Judith's advances...did it?

Cupping her cheek within his hand, he pressed his lips against her forehead. "I do not love Princess Judith." He insisted. "She is a beautiful woman, but I have two very good reasons not to return any affections she might have for me."

Gyda nodded, laying back upon the pillow, running her hands over her stomach which, by this time, was roughly the size of a pumpkin. "You're right." She decided, sighing in defeat. "I trust you, and I should know better than to think anything would happen between you and...her."

Coming to his feet, Athelstan nodded, planting one more kiss upon her forehead, covering her with the blankets before he moved towards the door. "Get some rest. King Ecbert said he had some matters to discuss with me, I'll be back as soon as he will permit me to leave, will you be okay while I'm gone?"

Gyda grinned up at him, nodding her head. "Athelstan, I'm pregnant, not dying." She said, a giggling bubbling within her throat when she realized she'd once said something quite similar to him a little more than a year previous. "Besides, need I remind you that this _is _your fault, after all."

Grinning, Athelstan nodded in consent, closing the door lightly behind him before he continued down the corridor, following the familiar maze of the villa. He came to a halt when he arrived at the room the note King Ecbert had left him had instructed him to go to. Opening the door, he was surprised to find the room empty. Unsure of what to do, Athelstan looked about the room curiously.

It appeared to be some kind of guest room, there was a small feather bed in the corner, moved out of the way as if it were an after thought, or, perhaps, to make room for the line of bookcase which lead to a large oak desk which sat against the wall nearest to the door, a platter of food which had been partially eaten and a flask of wine sitting idle upon it. Taking a seat at the desk, he attempted to make himself comfortable when the door once again opened, but instead of King Ecbert, Princess Judith stood in the threshold, looking equally surprised. Pressing her lips together, she closed the door behind her, moving towards the desk where he sat, only for him to jump away from her, moving as far away from her as possible that the small confines of the room would allow. "W-where's King Ecbert, he told me to meet him here. He said nothing about you."

The princess merely shrugged, stopping at the desk, turning her back to him, as she prepared two drinks for them, discreetly adding an extra vial to the cup intended for Athelstan before promptly handing it to him. "No idea." She insisted, bringing her cup to her lips, beckoning for him to do the same. She waited until he drank before continuing. "He sent me here to...er, _entertain _you whilst he is detained."

Athelstan furrowed his brows, his head beginning to spin as she slow edged towards him. "I-I'm not sure I quite understand what you mean..." He said, clamping his hands to his head, his half-drained goblet falling to the ground with a hollow 'clank' as its remaining contents splattered over the floor. A sudden dizziness came over him and he stumbled backwards, falling on something soft that he could only assume was the feather bed.

"That's it, just relax." He could hear a voice say, though he was no longer certain of who it was that had spoken. Through his fuzzy vision he could barely make out the shape of what appeared to be a woman standing before him. Leaning over him, she traced her fingers over his chest, untying the lacings of his tunic as she crawled on top of him, placing her legs on either side of him. "Now we can stop denying what we _truly _desire." The same silky voice said again, the figure slowly removing articles of clothing both from their body and his. "I love you, Athelstan. Tell me, do you love me?"

* * *

**First of all, I apologize for the long wait. I had originally intended to post monthly, but I suppose my updates are going to have to remain inconsistant due to the unpredictability of life! In addition, I will say, however, that it is my goal to have the entire fanfic up to date (through season 4) by the time the new season airs.**

**In regards to this particular chapter, it mainly focuses on the love triangle between Gyda, Athelstan, and Judith. As discussed before, though we all know Athelstan would never betray anyone he truly loved, I feel it is important to keep JudithxAthelstan present purely because of their future child, Alfred. Because we don't yet know the potential of Alfred's character, I feel that it is important that I don't change that aspect of fate.**

**Additionally, as I have already mentioned, Athelstan is extremely loyal. I am certain we can all agree that he would never intentionally cheat on his wife, especially if she was currently expecting his child! Therefore, it only made sense to me that he be with Judith against his will, or, rather, not completely aware of his actions. It is true, that I definately am NOT a Judith fan, but I felt that an explanation for my turn of events was necessary for those of you who DO like her. Futhermore, I feel that I must make it clear that the two relationships differ in one crucial way: Gyda and Athelstan love each other for who they are, regardless of society's expectation of them, Judith as fallen in love with the _idea _Athelstan, as (also evidenced in the TV series) she never _truly _knew Athelstan at the same intimate/personal level Gyda or even Ragnar would.**

**In conclusion, thank you all for your support and dedication! You are all greatly appreciated!**


	14. Chapter 14: Affairs of the Heart

Examining herself in the free-standing mirror located in the corner of the bedchamber which she shared with her husband, Gyda turned to her side to examine her profile, but no matter which angle she stood, her stomach appeared to be the size of a watermelon, even behind the blue fabric of her gown. Since she began her third trimester, she had no longer been able to wear natural waist gowns in favor of empire waist, to make room for her growing child. The gown she currently wore was specially made for her as a gift from King Ecbert, the color of the gown perfectly matching her eyes and the silver and gold trim which lined her under-bust and sleeves gorgeously complementing her blonde hair which had been decorated with a multitude of braids. However, despite her breath-taking appearance, she couldn't help but feel insecure about her condition.

"I haven't seen my father and brother for months, and now I must greet them like this..." She sighed, looking back at Athelstan with a frown upon her lips. "I didn't have a chance to tell them about my condition before they left for battle, and I have no idea if my mother ever did...I suppose they shall both be in for quite a surprise."

Athelstan allowed himself a small smile. "You've done nothing wrong." He assured her. "When your father married you to me, he knew very well that it could lead to family. Though, he _did_ admit to me once that he preferred me as a suitor because he doubted that I could bring myself to bed you." He chuckled to himself, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink as he recalled their wedding night. How very wrong Ragnar had been...

Gyda giggled, smoothing her skirts over her middle as she glanced back at him through the glass. "How little my father knows you." She teased him, smiling back at him slyly. "As I can recall, since we have been married, you cannot seem to keep your hands _off_ of me. Having a child so early in our marriage is proof of that, I think." She teased. "I cannot imagine how hard it has been for you to cope these last few months in my...er, _absence_." She returned her attention to her middle, heaving a heavy sigh. "Look at me, Athelstan, I'm as round as a pumpkin!" Lifting up her skirts, she tried, in vain to peek around her large mid-section. "I cannot see my own feet, I'm so large! Are we certain there is only _one _baby in me?" She peered over her shoulder at her husband in playful accusation. "_What _have you done to me?"

Coming to stand just behind her, he wrapped his arms around her, placing his hands upon her middle. Resting his chin upon her shoulder, he nestled his face into the crook of her neck planting small kisses upon her sensitive skin. "You are a very beautiful pumpkin." He insisted with a grin as she rolled her eyes.

"Flatter me all you wish, but I simply cannot wait until this child is finally born!"

"He will be here before we know it." He insisted, returning to the bed, sitting upon its edge so he could continue to comfortably admire her. "Or she. You are almost to term and we have yet to discuss what we shall call the child!"

Gyda shrugged, turning her back to her reflection and perched herself on the edge of the bed beside where he sat. "We've been occupied with _other_ matters as of late." She excused. She searched his eyes expectantly, hoping that he might catch her implications. Though she wanted to trust him with all of her heart, something inside of her twisted with suspicion when she recalled a few night previous when he had not returned to their chambers until the early hours of the morning. She had passively inquired about his "meeting", but each time he had sharply dismissed her words, as she was sure he would do again if she were to once again mention it.

Choosing to caste aside her worries and paint a half-hearted smile upon her lips, deciding that now was not the most opportune time to test her husband. Taking his hand, she pressed her lips to his flesh. "I love you, Athelstan." She almost whispered her words, pouring all the love and affection she had in her heart for him, hoping that he would realize the emotion behind her seemingly simple statement.

A small smile formed on his lips and as he cupped her cheek bringing her lips to his. It was a simple kiss, yet it was sincere. In it Athelstan invested every confession of love, assurance of his faithfulness, as well as the apology for the deed which he could not bring himself to admit. In truth, he was afraid. He was afraid of losing his honor, afraid of losing her trust, afraid of losing _her_. He knew she wasn't a fool and that she knew him too well to merely accept his pretense, but he knew that she withdrew her wariness because she truly loved and trusted him and he would do anything to honor her faith.

Offering her husband a brief smile, Gyda placed a small kiss upon his forehead. "You are mine," she declared, tracing his bearded jaw with her finger, admiring every detail. "And I am yours." In her heart, she knew it to be true, regardless of the despair that also resided within her.

Smiling thinly in response, Athelstan promptly got to his feet, assisting Gyda as well before he led her to the door. "As much as I wish that we could stay here, just you and I, as long as we please, but, unfortunately we've plenty of people expecting our presence...not to mention a rather rigid midwife who would have my head if she thought I were detaining you for my own pleasure..."

Gyda giggled, nodding in agreement. "Then we shan't keep them waiting!"

* * *

Waiting in the banquet hall, Gyda felt like a child once more, trying to contain her apprehension as she discreetly attempted to peer over the many heads to get a glimpse of her father and brother as the party of mercenaries entered King Ecbert's Great Hall. Although the feasting and festivities already commenced around her, she could not draw her attention away from the door. She could recall experiencing similar feelings many times in her past when her father would return from distant lands that he would raid. Sometimes, her mother would permit Bjorn and herself to journey a little ways down the path that led to Kattegat so that they might be the first to welcome him home. They would sit for hours and hours, watching as far down the path as their eyes could see, wanting to be the first to catch a glimpse of their father.

Before she could get a proper glimpse of her family, King Ecbert stepped within her line of vision in order to greet his son, Prince Athelwulf who stood at the front of the party. The young prince grinned, happily accepting his father's embrace. "Father."

"My son." The King acknowledged with an smile identical to his son's. "No father could be prouder." He declared. He paused, peering over his shoulder to beckon forth the prince's wife, Princess Judith who sheepishly stepped forward at the King's request. "Your wife has missed you beyond endurance. I have often come across her in the chapel weeping and privately praying to God for your safe and sure return."

The next to enter the Hall were two figures, one of which Gyda recognized to be the Princess Kwentrith, her arm wrapped around a rather feeble looking man who slouched as he walked, his eyes directed towards the stone floors as if he feared what might meet them if he dared glance anywhere else. "Princess." The King acknowleged, completely disregarding the man as he took Kwentrith's hands within his own, smiling faintly as she brought their linked hands to her lips.

"Sire." She said, offering him what, if Gyda didn't know better, would've appeared to be a sweet smile. Her attention soon returned to the man in her arms, squeezing his arm gently as if to offer him courage to address the King. "Sire, this is my young brother, Burgred, he says that the campaign against us was no fault of his."

Ecbert nodded shortly, observing the man thoughtfully. "Well, I'm glad to hear it." He declared. "Welcome, Burgred, to Wessex."

Staring at the King in disbelief, Burgred quickly bowed his head timidly. "Sire, my sister has told me that you're a most generous and forgiving monarch." He managed to say. "I throw myself completely at your mercy."

"No, no, I meant what I said." Ecbert insisted, stopping Burgred before he had the chance to kneel before him, which the young man seemed quite prepared to do. "You are most welcome." He assured him, the edge of his lips curling into a faint grin, whether from an effort to reassure the young prince or from his own amusement, Gyda couldn't be sure. "Please join us to feast and celebrate the happy future of Mercia."

Gyda watched as the Prince and Princess ascended the steps to the feast that awaited them further into the room. They made an odd pair, she decided. The Princess, as she had met her once before, was a vile and ambitious woman. In the short time that Gyda had made her acquaintance, it quickly became obvious that sex and power were all that she desired. However, conversely, it appeared that her brother was nothing extrodinary, in fact, her impression of him was that he was craven and she doubted there was much more to him apart from his fear and obedience.

"Ragnar Lothbrok." The name instantly drew her from her thoughts. Her eyes darting back to the entrance, she watched as her father sauntered towards the King, offering him a tepid greeting which did not pass Gyda's notice.

"Forgive me if I do not kiss your hand." He said, his lips twiching into a half-smirk.

King Ecbert, though perhaps initially taken aback by the lack of formality, recovered quickly, his lips forming a thin and somewhat strained smile. "I would not expect it from you," He assured him, "As I have told you before, we are equals, you and I."

The rest of their words were lost to her, but as soon as their conversation ended and her father began walking in her direction, she immediately began to feel insecure. She knew she had no real reason to be worried, but she couldn't help but be apprehensive about welcoming him back. It was certain to come as a shock to him that he was soon to be a grandfather, but she hoped that he would pleased. After her concerns with Athelstan, the last thing she needed was her father's disapproval.

She began to approach him from her vantage point, but stopped when she realized that he sought her mother. She observed silently as they spoke, noting the begiling way they conversed with one another, although, she couldn't exactly be sure what their motive might be. The way their eyes wondered over one another, the lowness of their voices, the way their lips curled into supressed grins...if she were still the naive little girl she once was, she might have believed they could be rekindling the love they once shared, but she knew better than to believe that and quickly dismissed the thought.

Completely engrossed within her own thoughts, she was taken off guard when her mother gestured to her, prompting both her and her father to glance in her direction. Her father, as expected, was rather shocked, glancing between Lagertha and Gyda in disbelief before a grin gradually spread across his face. Urging him over to his daughter, Lagertha sent a wink in Gyda's direction before she left to join into the festivities, letting them have a moment alone.

"Faðir." A grin spread across her face as he pulled her into a hug.

Ragnar chuckled as he released her. "It would appear that there is something in the way." He said jokingly, resting his palm upon her swolen stomach. Gyda's heart swelled with happiness and pride to see her father so overwhelmed with pure joy. She knew it had been a long time since he had truly enjoyed the feeling of pure bliss. "I have to admit, I didn't think Athelstan had it in him."

Gyda blushed, unsure of how to respond. "You have been gone for so long, Faðir." She said, smiling as his hands moved to cup her face. "I've missed you...I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but it was still so soon, there was no telling what was going to happen and with you going off to battle..."

He shook his head quickly, silencing her. "It doesn't matter." He insisted. "I am happy for you, and for Athelstan. I know in my heart that your child will be strong and wise, as both of you are." He took her hand and gave her a comforting squeeze.

Gyda averted her eyes, thinking about her unease with her husband. She tried to pass of her disconent with another smile, but her father was unconvinced.

"What is it?" He demanded, his grip tightening on her hand.

Gyda bit her lip, but shook her head nontheless. "It's nothing." She said, offering him a small grin, hoping it was convincing, knowing very well that it wasn't. Before he could question her further, she decided it best if she changed the subject. "Where is Bjorn? I didn't see him amongst the other warriors."

Her father sighed, running his fingers over his beard. "When we were at battle Porrun was wounded badly...she is alive and so is the child, but she hasn't seemed to be coping well." He shook his head. "He's been watching over her ever since, just to make sure...to make sure she doesn't do something she might regret."

Gyda nodded in understanding. "W-where can I find him?"

"I believe they placed her in a room in the east wing." He said, though somewhat uncertainly.

Nodding briefly, she bid her father good-bye before swiftly exiting the room.

The music and laughter which spilled from the Great Hall faded into a gentle hum as she ventured down the long corridors of the villa in pursuit of her brother until it completely faded into silence. The faint sound of her own breathing and the gentle crackle of the torches in the sconces mingled with the echoing of her steps made her feel completely and utterly alone. The gentle light of the flames cast strange shadows upon the wall, which she avoided focusing on less she unnecessarily startle herself.

She was almost to the east wing when what sounded like voices reached her ears. Slowing her pace, she tentatively followed the sound, unable to ignore her curiosity. As she neared the source, the sound morphed into heavy breathing and low, throaty sighes which made Gyda wonder if she should dare venture further for fear of what or who she may see.

She was seconds from turning away when a voice issued from around the corner which froze her to the core. "Judith..." He growled, low and husky. "Judith, we can't..."

Gyda clenched her hand to her breast, the pain resonating from her heart so sharp and intense that she could barely suppress a cry of agony from escaping her lips. Pressing herself against the wall, she clenched her eyes close, not wanting to believe it. Surely, it couldn't be him...not her Athelstan. He would never betray her...he loved her...he said...and she had believed him...

Catiously, she peered around the wall, unwilling to believe what she knew in her heart to be true without seeing it for herself. Taking in the scene before her, she bitterly wished that she hadn't. It only took seconds for her to recognize the slender form of her husband pressed against a wall by a ravenous Princess Judith, trapping him in a hungry and rather demanding kiss.

Unable to bear seeing any more, Gyda quickly turned on her heel, running back the way she came, not caring if they overheard her. Tears stung in her eyes as the pain in her chest unrelentingly throbbed to an excruciating rhythm. She had almost reached her bedchamber when she blindly rammed into something too soft to have been a wall or door, so she assumed it to be a person. Inwardly cursing her luck, she opened her mouth to excuse herself when the figured grasped her by the arms, staying her in her place.

"Gyda?"

Glancing up, through her glassy eyes, she could barely make out the form of her brother, Bjorn. His face was in a hard scowl, yet his eyes remained soft with concern. He glanced at her middle, noting the evidence of her condition, but made no comment about it, knowing that that could wait. "What is wrong? Are you hurt? Did someone harm you?"

Tears returning to her eyes, Gyda shook her head and collapsed into his arms, pressing herself to him (as much as she could with her protruding middle) and wept furiously into his shoulder. "I-I want to leave." She sobbed. "I h-hate it h-here, Bjorn. T-take me a-away."

In one swift movement, Bjorn took his sister in his arms, cradling her like a child and took her to the room that he knew to be her bedchamber. Gently, he placed her upon the bed then proceeded to latch the door behind them before he turned back to her. "I don't know what happened or who did this to you, but at least now we can talk without being disturbed." He said, taking a seat beside her. "You don't have to speak now, as long as you know that you will eventually have to tell me who shall meet my ax."

Although his words should have given her comfort, the only made her weep more. Curling into him, she clung to his tunic desperately as tears soaked into the rough-spun fibers. "I believed him!" She cried. "H-he said he didn't love her...but he lied! I'm so s-stupid, Bjorn, so stupid!"

Wrapping his arms around her, Bjorn ran his hands through her hair as he had seen their father do many times before. "Shh," he cooed, hoping to calm her. "I know you are in pain, Gyda, I understand, but you need to calm yourself so you do not harm your child."

Nodding in agreement, she took a deep breath and soon succeeded in steadying her breath, her weeping reducing to silent tears which leaked from her eyes as she continued to grip Bjorn's tunic in firm fists, wanting as much strength from him as he could offer. "The child..." She said almost ruefully. "Bjorn, I don't know what to do." She admitted, resting a hand upon her abdomen, tracing her fingers over it tentatively, as if apologizing to the child within both for her episode and for what his/her father had done to cause them such a fright.

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I." She said solemnly. "He was so good to me, Bjorn. I don't understand how he could just...just..."

"What?"

Gyda bit her lip. Though in her mind she wanted to hate Athelstan, her heart still longed for him. She wanted him to hurt as much as she did in that very moment, but at the same time, she couldn't bear the thought of him suffering. He was still the father of her child, and nothing would change that, but how could she continue to love him, let alone _look _at him knowing what he had done?

"I fear...I fear that Princess Judith has stolen my husband from me."

* * *

**Hello, all! I apologize for not updating for months, it was not intentional and I am sincerely sorry for keeping you waiting for so long. If I am going to be honest, I've had a good third of this chapter written a long time ago, but I didn't really know where I wanted to go with it so it sat there untouched for a good while before I finally picked it up again. I wish that I could promise to update on a more regular basis, but any promise of that sort is unrealistic as life is unpredictable. Needless to say, just know that if I don't update for a long period of time, I haven't dropped the story, I just have stuff going on, so bear with me.**

**Now, in regards to the chapter.**

**I really wanted to include more action, so to say, in this chapter, but it just didn't flow that way, I guess. I had originally planned for Gyda to have the child in this chapter, but I feel that doing so would have rushed the plot and it might have caused an awkward time lapse. However, just know that I already have a name for the baby and what gender I want it to be, and it will more than likely be born in the next chapter.**

**Additionally, if you're wondering about the time lapse from the conquest of Mercia, I made it take several months, not only so Gyda would have her child before they left England, but also because I feel like it might take a significant amount of time (realistically) to reclaim a kingdom...**

**Once again, thanks for reading!**


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